Tabula Rasa
by Ebon Hush
Summary: War does not decide who is right it merely decides who is left. As phoenixfire sweeps the slate clean, will all be forgiven? What will emerge from the ashes? Pyro centric. HIATUS IS OVER. CHAPTER 25 IS UP, YAY!
1. As the Smoke Clears

**A/N**: Okay here goes. First X-men fic. (Be gentle)

**Rating**: Will probably reach M, eventually.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the X-men, San Francisco, New York or anything recognizable from the X-men Movie verse, comic verse or X-men Evolution (should that even be used). All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am making no money from this piece of fan fiction. Me no claimee – you no sueee.

**Warnings**: Lots of swear words, spoilers for all three X-movies (eventually) and what will probably seem like massive OOC-ness.

**Archive**: If ya want it, go ahead. Just let me know, kay?

**Reviews**: Make the world go round.

**Tabula-Fucking-Rasa**

**Chapter 1: As the Smoke Clears**

Alcatraz Island, San Francisco, CA, 

September 2nd, 3.33 PM.

The afternoon sun burned mercilessly onto the eyes of Chuck Whitman as he wiped the sweat from his brow and attempted to straighten his back. He and his boss, Lou, had been there since daybreak, lugging heavy rocks, chunks of metal and large slabs of asphalt. They hadn't taken any breaks until now, either. It has hard work and, squinting into the sinking sun, he grumbled: "…It's Sunday for fuck's sake. 'Supposed to be my day off, too. 'M not even gettin' paid."

Yes sir. His good mood and general civic spirit had evaporated right along with his dreams of catching the game on TV, a cold beer, and doing absolutely nothing today, except going to church like he always did. As it was, he couldn't wait to go home to his wife, Lucy, and maybe playing the 'hardworking husband' card to get a backrub.

Surveying the site and noting the massive amount of work left for tomorrow, he sighed and thanked God, that the entire thirty man team, and not just him, had been bullied into working by his boss that morning. It made him feel like less of a schmuck. Misery loves company and all that.

Aforementioned bastard boss was leaning against the bulldozer, having a smoke and listening to the news on the radio. Louis Garcia Vallejo was a massive mount of a man, or as his wife Maria would call him: A 'heap big hunk of Homo Sapiens'.

Always kind and easygoing, Maria had thought the entire mutant panic was interesting and even a little ridiculous:

"They're just humans like us, dear. Call them, oh I don't know… Humans Mark 2."

That was until last night. His dear wife had been white as a sheet as she watched the news bulletin from Alcatraz Island, only a mile away from their neighbourhood. Bolts of fire had been clearly visible even from their porch, and the commentator's terrified report of the apocalypse-like battlefield, as viewed through a tele-lens from the shore, had seemed surreal. Maria had looked at him, while clutching their youngest daughter, Alba.

"Louis, oh God, is this the End?"

Yep, the humour of the situation had definitely worn off for her by then.

She had not liked his volunteering the team for clean up duty in the morning one bit. It was too soon. What if the mutants were still there? It had only been a few hours since the battle, it was far too dangerous. But he had been insistent.

"It needs to be fast, love. The city has to move quickly. What if there are _human_ survivors in the wreckage? I've worked earthquake clean up before. Don't worry, I know what I'm doin' and so does my team. There'll be cops present. It's all good."

The radio droned on in the background. The empathic voice of the reporter caught his attention:

"_As the smoke clears from around Alcatraz Island, the nation can only wonder at the sheer destruction left behind by the battle that unfolded here only a day ago. On Friday night, families of the deceased will congregate on the remains of the once proud symbol of our fair city, the Golden Gate Bridge. Here a memorial service will be held for the brave men and women, who faced the terrorist faction, known as 'The Brotherhood' and paid for our continued safety with their lives. Our hearts go out to those left behind, along with our gratitude…"_

"Hey Lou"

Lou was caught up in the news broadcast and his own thoughts, and so he didn't hear the call of his colleague who was leaning on a shovel about thirty yards away from him.

"…_Several humans and mutants alike are still missing and presumed dead, as the generous construction crews of this city that are pulling free overtime in an attempt to clear the wreckage on the island, have yet to find any human remains. Did any survive? It does not appear so. Many families - too many, will be burying empty coffins…"_

"Hey _Lou_"

"Listen, that's us Chuck… heh 'the generous construction crews.' That there is pure PR gold."

"Lou, for fuck's sake, man. Turn off the radio. I think I hear somethin'!"

The burly construction boss raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation.

"Chuck, man, you're trippin'. There aint nuthin' there - no survivors, no remains, no souvenirs, no NUTHIN'."

Still, he turned of the radio and walked over to where his younger colleague was picking around the debris with his head comically tilted to one side in the classic cartoon pose for 'I'm listening for something'. Suddenly Chuck stopped.

"Listen. There it is again."

Chuck made his way over the half dissolved, wet wreckage of a car, idly noting that it didn't seem quite as burned out as the rest of them.

Now curious, Lou followed. He manoeuvred his considerable bulk over the wreck and, panting heavily, he made his way to a five foot high pile of shrapnel that seemed to have been blown against the far side of the car, like snow in a strong wind. He shook his head in incredulous awe. He had heard that a couple of telekimetics…telemechanics… tele-something-or-others-anyway had participated in the battle and had been responsible for the utter destruction on the island, but damn! To throw SUV's around like it was nothing…

"Jeezus…" He mumbled to himself.

"Shh… over there." Chuck pointed to the bottom of the shrapnel-drift.

In tandem, both men bent over and eyed the base of the heap. There was a small gap in the metal pile, and they both squinted, trying to pierce the darkness within. It seemed that the undercarriage of the car was still relatively intact in spite of the tires having been blown all to hell. Chuck wrinkled his nose at the still lingering smell of burnt rubber.

"Hang on Lou. I'm gettin' the flashlight."

Chuck returned to their bulldozer and picked up a MAG light from the tool box. All the while, he couldn't help but wonder. What if it was a survivor? What if it was a mutant? Should they call the cops over? His musings were cut short by a yell from the other side of the car.

"Chuck! Get your ass over here… Somethin's movin' in there!"

Chuck sprinted across the rubble, circumventing the car and stopping at the gap, where he threw himself on the ground to point the flashlight into the gloom.

"_MEOW!!!_"

A wet bundle of black fur hurtled out through the gap and vaulted itself into the arms of a chocked Lou, who held the creature at arms length, while he tried to locate his heart, which seemed to have displaced itself into his throat.

"A cat. A goddamn CAT, Chuck. You fuckwad!" he growled, when he had caught his breath. "That's it. Back to work. Break's over!"

The tiny feline, who seemed to have taken a liking to the big construction worker, daintily placed its paws on his chest and liked his nose, making it twitch uncontrollably.

"Heh… that's a good kitty," he murmured as he set the cat on the ground. Straightening to wipe his hands on his overalls he paused.

Meanwhile, Chuck had been getting to his feet slowly. He was standing with his eyes closed, trying to get over the head rush caused by adrenaline and his sprint across the ground, when Lou's half choked "Hey Chuck?" made him turn to his boss.

"Wha…" He didn't get any further as Lou held up his hands, tinted a deep shade of crimson and glinting wetly in the sun. Wait. Wet blood meant…

"There's something still bleeding in there, man!" Lou whispered.

Immediately Chuck was back on his belly in front of the gap, shining the flashlight around wildly, almost instantly catching the reflection of a generously sized pool of red liquid near the rear axel of the car.

He transferred the flashlight to his other hand and reached in as far as he could, blindly feeling around and disregarding (or forgetting) the risk of catching HIV or the like. After what seemed minutes he came into contact with something hard that definitely wasn't metal.

"I think… I think I've got a boot, Lou. And pants! There's someone in here. Get help! We need to move this shit NOW!"

Lightly nudging the heavy boot with his hand he listened for a sound, any sound He was hoping fervently for any sign that whoever was in there was alive. He didn't get his wish as the person inside did not move a muscle. All he got for his efforts was a handful of pant-leg and a good feel of the size of the footwear.

_Not female_, he guessed.

"Hang on, buddy. Hang on" he whispered.

As the rest of the team responded to the booming shouts of their boss, Chuck sent up a prayer to heaven that it was not too late to save just one life out of this disaster. Even if it was a terrorist, like he feared. Hadn't the 'good' mutants worn all-leather uniforms?

"Dear God, give this poor soul a chance. Show mercy. I'm sure that even a criminal can reform, start over. God, oh God please! Doesn't everybody deserve a second chance?"

The team worked fast and expertly in the rapidly fading light, clearing the debris away from the prone form on the ground. A paramedic team was called, and they immediately started to set up their gear, guessing at what injuries they would find under the metal heap.

Finally, after about an hour, a reinforced door that had created a barrier between the shrapnel and the body underneath was removed, and the paramedic team approached the car wreck. As the light of their hastily erected projectors hit the form on the ground, Chuck bit back an oath.

"It's just a kid" he said quietly to Lou. "God! Look at 'im."

"I'm lookin'" Lou choked out. "He looks like my boy Charlie. Can't be more than eighteen, if that. Jeezus!"

The boy was kind of short, not even close to six feet, from what Chuck could see. Five seven perhaps? And rather thin too. He wore faded and beat-all-to hell cargoes tucked into heavy boots and a long sleeved T-shirt of indeterminable color under his denim jacket. It might have been a turtle neck, though. There was too much blood and too little intact fabric left to tell. His brown hair was matted with the stuff; only one or two strands were dry, showing that the kid had blond highlights. Scratches and abrasions covered his pale face and right shoulder, where the shirt had been torn. Apparently he had been thrown about a lot too. These minor injuries were not the main concern, though.

Chuck shook his head and tuned into the paramedics' rapid fire conversation. He tried to make heads and tail of the jargon, but in his chocked state all he picked up were snippets.

"Pierced Abdomen … Fractured scull … broken ribs …_Cold sores? What the hell_?" Do you see this, Jack?"

"Yeah, I see it. Oh fuck, check this out …feel like…might be spinal damage…"

At the last bit, Chuck closed his eyes.

_Sweet Lord. If you survive this, child, God must surely love you. _

**TBC**. If you think it's worthwhile. (Ahh… who am I kidding. It _will_ be continued)

**A/N 2**: I haven't decided on a pairing, if any for this story. I kinda like slash fic, but I'm thinking John/Marie. (There doesn't seem to be a big audience for slash in this fandom)

Now, I'm not the sort of writer, who will hold chapters hostage for reviews, 'cause that kinda sucks. But please consider hitting that lovely little button. I would like to improve my writing, and I will try to respond to individual reviews if you leave an email address. I'd love to hear your opinions and/or any suggestions you might have.

Next: Meanwhile at the Mansion… **Chapter 2: A Change in the Wind**


	2. A Change In The Wind

Disclaimer: See chapter one

**Tabula-Fucking-Rasa**

**Chapter 2: A Change in the Wind**

Xavier's Academy, Westchester, NY,

5.07 PM, same day

She stood looking out of the large bay windows of her office, watching the first leaves fall dejectedly to the ground. School was let out today, and the kids were all outside, the younger ones playing, not really realising what had happened the night before. She could see Rogue and Bobby sitting by the fountain, holding hands and talking. Their heads were together, and she could tell from where she stood that the conversation was anything but light hearted.

_What did I expect? Who could be light hearted today of all days?_

Attuned as she was to the atmosphere, she sensed change.

_ A storm is coming _ she thought, feeling an increase in air moisture and electricity from the East.

A few days ago, a storm like the one that was building now would have her on edge. Usually when a thunderstorm broke, she would be in the thick of it, dancing on the air currents and rejoicing in the sheer untamed power of the phenomenon. Right then, however, a steady drizzle, a thick mist, or even plain grey skies would have suited her mood much better. All her joy was gone; even anger had faded as the sun rose in a blood red sky. All she felt was numbness and quiet grief.

_So many lost. Jean, poor girl. Dear Charles, and oh, Scott; my dear friends, how will I go on now? What should I do? _

From where she stood, she could see the professor's headstone that would soon be joined by two others. Only one grave would be resided in. Logan had brought back Jean's body to the mansion to rest beside the symbolic monuments of her teacher and the man she loved. Nothing remained of either man. The coffins would remain empty, hollow.

_ Like I am. Not even vengeance remains. _

The new headmistress of Xavier's School knew very well what her predecessor would say to her, had he been here to read her thoughts:

"Live and learn. Build on the foundations that have been left behind. Forgive even if you can never forget."

Yes. Charles had always been a firm believer in learning from one's mistakes. She even agreed – up to a point, though she had never been the forgiving sort herself, possessing all the implacable fury of a hurricane. She was willing to try, certainly. She was even willing to build bridges – rope bridges, mind you, not concrete ones. She felt betrayed by her own kind, and although Charles' voice in her head encouraged her to 'kiss and make up,' naiveté simply wasn't in her nature. People like Magneto simply would not change. They could not. Pride and principles coupled with anger and arrogance made for a deadly quagmire, one simply could not extract oneself from.

Oh, she understood pride and arrogance perfectly. In Africa, she had been a goddess; she had been worshipped for her ability to bring the rain. But she had also been young and able to change; when she was contacted by Charles Xavier and offered a place at his school, she had been willing to listen.

Magneto, on the other hand, had been mired in his hatred of the human race for far too long. That old dog would not be learning new tricks any time soon - not that it mattered much. He was harmless now, having been cured but good. A quadruple dose would have to be enough to extinguish even a powerful Class 4 mutant like him.

No, Magneto was no threat. She felt no remorse and no sympathy for him. In her opinion, he deserved everything he got.

_If only he could have been stopped sooner. How many lives would have been spared? How many young humans and mutants would still be alive? If only he hadn't been spreading such sweet poison, maybe Callisto would still be alive. Maybe John would not have left. _

In her minds eye, great turrets of flame shot into the sky, while burning wreckage fell to the ground like meteors along perfect trajectories. She remembered a stray thought entering her head as she pressed herself against the meagre cover offered by a slab of asphalt from the bridge:

_He was always good at math. _

Just a few short months ago, she had been teaching the young man who was now raining fiery destruction down on them.

"Pyro," she mused.

_ John_.

A few months ago

Storm could tell that the loss of the taciturn pyrokinetic had hit Bobby and Rogue the hardest. For days after John left them at Alkali Lake, Bobby appeared to expect him to stroll right on back through the front door. When he did, he would of course be greeted with a wry shake of Bobby's head, a dressing down by the professor and the typical: "John, what _evah_ were ya thinkin'?" from Rogue, and then everything would return to normal.

John never walked back through that door.

Ironically, no matter how annoying Rogue and Iceman may have found him, the absence of their 'third wheel' had quite an impact on their relationship. There were no more irreverent 'aww-get-_over-_yourselves-already's to forcefully break up the awkward, angst-induced pauses in their conversation. Soon, the gaps between words stretched and what used to be a steady stream of sound grew stagnant.

Eventually the pauses became a chasm of silence between them, without even the formerly constant _click-swoosh-click, click-swoosh-click_ to fill it.

It wasn't long at all before Bobby and Rogue had realised that they didn't really have that much to say to one another.

Present Day

Storm's recollections were shattered like brittle ice by a loud knock on her office door. Before she could even contemplate responding, it was thrown open by the small form of Alexander Jones, the insomniac technokinetic child with the serious TV addiction.

"Storm! Storm! Come see… you won't believe what's on the scanner!" The kid was badly out of breath which was unusual for the normally eerie, quiet boy.

"Lex, dear. What ever is the matter, child?" She said, putting a hand on his shoulder and stooping to look him in the eye.

Immediately her hand was grabbed and before she could protest she was being hauled out of the door and heading towards the TV room.

Soon she was leaning close to the Institute's radio frequency scanner, holding her breath and trying to pick up every last word. The reception was terrible.

"It's from 'Frisco'. I'm recording it, but well, it won't clear up much more than this. It's the electricity in the air, Storm. It's messing with the signal," Jones explained.

"Is it now?" Storm asked with a small smile. "Let's see if we can't clear that up for you."

The weather witch glanced out the window and began her communication with the coming storm. Her eyes turned an electric white as she gently but insistently directed it North over Lake Ontario. Steadily, the signal grew clearer and the radio chatter of the police force stationed on Alcatraz Island became easily audible.

"_I repeat, subject has been identified as a male mutant. As far as I can tell, it's not one of the X-men. No uniform. It's unconscious, but still alive. What do you wanna do with it, Captain? Over."_

"_Captain Reynolds here. Geez… umm… maybe we should call the military? Shit, I don't know. I gotta get instructions. Can the paramedics keep him alive for a while? Maybe it's not safe to move him. Over."_

"_Just a minute static yeah… they'll set up a mobile unit on site. Over."_

"_Okay, Garvey. Hold position until I get back to ya. Might be a couple o' hours. Over."_

"_Will do, Cap. We'll hold. Garvey out."_

As the transmission ended, Storm and Jones looked at each other, both momentarily lost for words. Shaking her white-on-black hair, Storm tried to clear her head – tried to think. There was a survivor. But how was that even possible? The Phoenix had killed and dissolved everybody and nearly every_thing_ on that Island, hadn't she?

Storm had to check it out for herself. The mutant might be dangerous. He could cause serious damage to the unprepared police officers, if he woke up suddenly. Not to mention what an angry mob would do to an unconscious mutant, especially a Brotherhood mutant. The police would not be able to stop it, they may not even want to. She had to get to San Francisco, and fast.

"Jones, it's very important that you don't tell _anyone_ about this, okay? No one must know. Do you understand?"

She looked the young wunderkind straight in the eye as she tried to impart the severity of the situation to him.

"Yeah, Storm. No one in school can know. Teenagers like to gossip, people might find out, and the humans are angry enough as it is. Duh, I'm not stupid."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, and attached the scanner to a pair of earphones, cutting of the sound.

"Good boy, Jones. I owe you one. Look I have to go. Tell Piotr that he's in charge until I get back."

Hastening to the elevator she pulled out her com device. "Hello, Logan? Come in Logan."

Already her mind had begun working overtime. Who? How? How best to handle this?

"'Lo?" A gruff answer came back over the com.

"Logan. I know you are resting, but I need you in the downstairs office immediately. We have a situation."

"A 'situation'? What kind of a situation? Can't you can the secret agent talk? I was sleeping."

"There was a survivor, Logan, a mutant, at Alcatraz. We need to get there before the military gets any ideas. I need to get Hank to work his political muscle, and I need you to come with me to see the survivor in San Francisco, in case he's dangerous."

"Shit. I'm on my way. Be there in ten."

"Make it five."

Storm hung up on Logan's sour: "Yeah yeah, woman."

_ Hmm…How does one attain an invitation to post apocalyptic Alcatraz? _

**A/N**: A little heads up for you, my dear readers. This story will not be fast paced. It will contain less action and more angst/character development and probably copious amounts of OOC (at least it will seem that way). I'm trying to write the characters as they are, but hey. Trauma does stuff to people, y'know?

Next on 'Tabula Fucking Rasa' **Chapter 3: And the Sun Will Rise**

Please take the time to review. There's an, only slightly singed, box of Pyro's 'Charcoal Chip Cookies'™ in it for ya.


	3. And the Sun Will Rise

**Disclaimer**: See chapter one.

**A/N: **Okay, I've decided to spoil you people. Here is another chapter, a long one! Phew. I have no skin left on my fingers, I swear! I hope you enjoy and PLEASE take the time to review! Pretty please? No active Pyro yet, but I promise, I'm getting there. I just have to set the stage and stuff, y'know?

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 3: And the Sun Will Rise**

The sun was high over the bay as the jet skimmed low over the city of brotherly love. Logan wasn't feeling very loving, though. Being woken up at three AM, dressed in sweaty leather and herded aboard a jet was not his idea of fun. At all! The Wolverine was enthusiastically cussing bossy African weather goddesses to himself as Storm prepared to land on Alcatraz Island. Storm was uttering a steady stream of in-flight babble all amounting to "Roger Roger, I'm gonna land now," to the less than alert Canadian.

A sizeable part of the Island had already been cleared of debris, and Storm set the jet down in what used to be the prison's quad. A contingent of SFPD's finest was stationed on the island, and as they touched down a slim man in his late forties approached the aircraft.

"Let me do the talking, okay Logan? They're expecting us." Storm said, while she loosened her seatbelt with one hand and smoothed down her hair with the other.

Meanwhile Logan was trying to work out the stiffness of his collar, which was probably caused by dried blood acquired on this god forsaken hell hole of an island in the first place. By the look on the cop's face as Logan and Storm exited the plane, he wasn't in a sunny mood either. Black circles and puffy eyelids spoke of at least one sleepless night. That should make Wolverine feel better. But it kinda didn't. Great.

Storm was holding out her hand, doing the 'I'm a harmless woman, you do not think I'm a threat' routine. She, too, had noticed the officer's fatigue and was thankful for it. A tired mind was slower than a rested one, and she might need every advantage she could get to keep the mutant out of government hands. Just thinking of what could happen to him, should he be contained by the army, made her shiver. She remembered Charles' description of Jason Stryker as they had found him at Alkali Lake. That a man could do something like that to his own son, terrified her. No, she would never let that happen here. This mutant would be going back to the Institute, no matter _who_ he was.

"Captain Reynolds? I'm Ororo Monroe, call me Storm. I am the principal of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Westchester, New York. We spoke on the phone. I believe we can be of help here, should the survivor need special treatment or containment."

Logan's respect for the cop rose by quite a few degrees as he took Storm's hand without hesitation or fear and shook it vigorously.

"Yeah…yeah. Welcome to one hell of a dilemma, Miss. I have no idea how to handle this one. We pulled the kid's prints, and uhh… seems he's got a juvenile record… From Australia. Guess he's not one of yours then? One of the uhh… X-men, was it? Must be one of them terrorists."

Reynolds was wringing his hands and kept right on babbling and asking questions without giving Storm a chance to answer. Not that Logan thought she would; not if she was anywhere as confused as he was. Australia? What the hell? He looked at the woman in front of him, trying to gauge her reaction. She didn't look confused at all, though. She looked sad.

"Storm, you okay?" Wolverine all but whispered, so Reynolds wouldn't hear.

"Yes Logan, I'm fine. It's just that… John used to live in Australia." She answered just as quietly.

"Pyro? Damn, you think it's him?"

"Shh… Not so loud. I don't know. Maybe - we'll just have to see."

To Reynolds she said:

"We have pupils from most of the world, Captain Reynolds, and not all of them hadn easy childhood. Maybe we could have a look at the bo- young man?"

"Huh? Oh sure. The paramedics have set up camp right over here."

The policeman led the two mutants to a military issue inflatable tent. Pausing just outside, Storm repeated her earlier instruction under her breath, just loud enough for Logan's enhanced hearing to pick up:

"Let _me_ do the talking."

The inside of the tent was freezing cold. A hush lay thick in the air only broken by a steady, slow 'bleep-bleep-bleep' from one of a multitude of monitors, surrounding what looked like an oxygen tent. The medical personnel where surrounding the opaque plastic, taking notes on clipboards and conversing in near audible whispers.

As Storm looked around, Logan didn't think twice about eavesdropping in on their conversation.

_Let's hear it for super sharp senses. _

"Blood volume is stable. Haemorrhaging has stopped. It's amazing; the subject is healing at an incredible rate. You said your team found what amounted to six litres of blood on the ground?"

"Correct. Subject was still bleeding freely when we found him outside. Far larger blood volume than a human male of his build and age should have. If his healing would continue at that speed, there probably wouldn't even be any paralysis when he wakes up. However, his condition is stable now; no further healing has been detected. I'd be very interested to ask him about this when he wakes up."

"You mean _if _he wakes up, don't you? The head trauma alone should be enough for massive brain damage and we can't handle a panicked or amnesiac mutant, especially if it's hostile. We best keep the subject sedated. Nurse, will you check the EBP again, please?"

"Yes, Doctor Harris."

As the medical team fell silent, Logan looked around the large tent. They had obviously been conducting numerous tests on 'the subject'. Several X-rays were pinned to a whiteboard on one wall and what looked like blood- and tissue samples were placed near an array of microscopes on a table on the opposite side from the oxygen tent. The smell of blood and chloroform permeated the air and Logan suppressed an involuntary shudder. He _hated_ doctors, and here was another mutant being used as a lab rat. The Wolverine closed his eyes tightly as vicious memories assaulted him.

_**Pain… so much pain. Screaming-blood-water everywhere-toomuchtoomuchTOOMUCH!**_

"Logan? Logan! Put those away right now!"

The Wolverine blinked dazedly a few times.

"What? Oh… Sorry"

He retracted the eight inch adamantium claws that had sprung from his knuckles as a response to his fight-or-flight instinct.

Storm gave him a look. Logan noted that it was her patented 'I don't care if your hands are cold; you will not play with fireballs in class, John' look.

Luckily, Reynolds didn't seem to have noticed anything. He was busy at the moment, waving the Doctor over.

Doctor Harris seemed to be in his late fifties. His hair was thinning and seemed to have been red once. As opposed to Captain Reynolds, the doctor seemed to be apprehensive at having two more mutants to deal with. Even so, he nodded politely to both of them, giving Storm the usual once over. It probably wasn't everyday middle aged doctors encountered beautiful African women with white hair, dressed in leather and a capes, who smiled at them.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Carl Harris. You're the… people from the Institute?"

Noting the almost hopeful expression on the Doctor's face, Storm answered in the affirmative and Harris visibly exhaled in apparent relief.

"Oh, good. I suppose you will want an update on the subject's status?"

"Yes, please, Doctor. But first - Is he awake? Could we see him?"

The good Doctor nodded and led them in the direction of the oxygen tent. As they drew closer, they could both feel a drop in temperature. Storm ran her hands up and down her arms a few times, until she became acclimatised.

"Oh, the cold" Harris said. "We've had to keep the containment area at -5 degrees centigrade. The subject's body temperature is unusually high. When we brought him in, his fever peaked at 44 degrees, which as I'm sure you know, is absolutely fatal to human beings. We've brought his temperature down now, and only the wounded areas seem to be heavily inflamed at the moment. Unfortunately, he has not gained consciousness, and his heartbeat is frighteningly low. It's all rather fascinating, and the research we've already done is promising to be groundbreaking. Perhaps you can be of assistance in explaining these anomalies? Ah, here we are."

As the Doctor pulled back the plastic curtain with something closely resembling a circus-flourish, Logan and Storm exchanged a look of incredulity at his callous professional interest in the so called 'subject'. It was as if Harris didn't even view his new pet project as a person!

"You don't have to worry. We're keeping him restrained, as you can see." The Doctor confided.

"I'll leave you with him."

As Harris stepped out of the confines of the plastic tent, Storm and Logan could see the interior clearly for the first time.

"Oh God, Logan, it's really him." Storm whispered.

Logan just nodded and gave a low whistle. "Damn, kid. That's gotta hurt," he murmured.

Pyro laid manacled, wrists, waist and feet, to a metal examining table, his lower body covered by a thin sheet. His clothes had been removed and lay on a side table along with the wrist igniter. Several IV needles were inserted into veins, which were clearly visible even through the black and blue bruises that covered most of his pale upper body. Dried blood was clumped in his hair and his face looked gaunt and sunken. Both hands were encased in bandages and so were most of his torso. A large bloodstain showed through the gauze under the lowest rib on his right side.

Storm slowly approached the table and leaned on it, bending close to her former student.

"I don't think I've ever seen him this still before. He looks so… frail."

"Pyro? Frail? Knowing him, he's playing hooky," Logan snorted.

She pulled of her glove and gently stroked his hair back from an ugly bruise on his forehead.

"This must be Iceman's handy work," she said with a small smile in Logan's direction.

"Wonder who taught _him_ to fight dirty?"

Crossing his arms, Wolverine sent her a completely unapologetic smirk. "Yeah. Wonder who."

Storm moved her hand to rest on Pyro's forehead. Her brows drew together in a worried frown. His temperature was low, very low. John always had a high base temperature in comparison to regular Homo sapiens. All 'elemental' mutants mirrored their powers when it came to that aspect of their physiology.

"They're keeping him too cold. His body needs heat to heal, that's probably why he was running a fever in the first place. We need to get him out of here, Logan."

"Yeah, before Doctor Mengele decides to eviscerate him or somethin'," Logan agreed.

"Will you stay with him, Logan? I don't trust that doctor near him," Storm asked, eyeing the scalpels and other not-so-friendly medical paraphernalia that lay within easy reach of the metal table.

Leaving her fellow mutant to play bodyguard, Storm went to talk to the doctor and Captain Reynolds. The policeman was outside the tent, leaning on the pontoon of a water chopper. His body was turned into the sun, his eyes closed. He had a blissful expression on his face, and Storm thought he might be taking a cat nap.

"Excuse me, Captain? May I have a word?" Storm asked politely.

The Captain started and turned towards her with the exaggerated movements of someone who was either only half awake, drunk or severely sleep deprived.

"Oh, Miss Monroe, you startled me. Have you ID'ed the young man?" he asked with interest.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, we have. His name is St. John Allerdyce. He is a student and legal ward of the Xavier Institute."

"So he's not a terrorist? He's one of yours? Huh… I thought all the X-men were in costume for the confrontation."

"All the active members were, Captain," Storm said, quickly moving on, before Reynolds could ask any more questions.

"Given his condition, which I'm told is stable I'm returning him to the Institute for further care. He is an elemental kinetic and therefore has special needs. We have the proper installations and resources to keep him comfortable during his recovery, and to be quite frank, I am not inclined to let him remain here for Doctor Harris' experiments. You understand."

"I'm gonna need to see some adoption papers and there are several forms you need to fill out. Furthermore, the Doctor won't release him without some… incentive."

"Incentive, Captain? I'm not sure I understand."

The Captain shook his head, a strange little smile playing on his lips.

"Don't worry about it. Just get the papers, sign the forms and I'll… talk to the good Doctor. I heard him discussing his proposed 'experiments' with his colleagues, and I can safely say that I do _not_ like the way that man thinks. It was people like him, who provoked this conflict in the first place, Miss. Just get your people out of my city and I'll deal with the rest."

Storm searched Reynold's face intently, looking for his motivations, his sincerity. Finding only fatigue and truth, she nodded, smiling.

"Thank you Captain, I'll get those papers faxed immediately. One more thing, though. I would ask you to keep John's presence here, or at least his identity, out of the media. He does not need this sort of complication in his life. He's had a very hard childhood, you see. He needs a stable environment, and not a herd of reporters following his every move."

The weather goddess played to her strengths, applying generous amounts of sincerity and worry into her voice, laying her hand on his arm and looking deeply into his eyes. This had to work. If the media discovered John's identity, the Institute would be under siege before you could say: 'Exposure'.

"Uhh… yes off course, Miss. As I said, don't worry none. I'll take care of it. You just make sure the kid gets better."

"We will, Captain. We take care of our own," Storm firmly stated. "Thank you."

Needless to say, the Doctor wasn't all too thrilled to have his award winning research subject removed, but faced with the proper legal papers, a very insistent police Captain and, last but not least, a US secretary he had no choice. He was even prohibited from ever publishing anything on the case seeing as Secretary McCoy had made sure the whole thing was stamped 'Top Secret'.

As the X-jet lifted gracefully into the sky, Doctor Carl Harris believed he saw his Nobel Prize take wing and fly into the East right along with it.

In the jet, Logan was tightening the security straps around Pyro's stretcher. The aircraft's raised temperature had caused the kid's fever to return and he was breathing shallowly. This worried Wolverine somewhat, but at least his heart rate was back up. Way up.

"We will have to fly somewhat slower than on the way here, Logan. Wouldn't want to jar him. Hank will be waiting in the med-bay when we get there. ETA 1AM."

"Fine… Maybe I can get some shut-eye on the way," Logan grumbled.

Turning back to the unconscious teen he mumbled:

"Oh, and Firefly? When we get back, you are _so_ grounded!"

**TBC: **Next on 'Tabula Fucking Rasa.' **Chapter 4: Rapid Eye Movement**.

**A/N**: Thank you to my three first reviewers: RedMagic, Dama Jade and Elirrina. You guys are the best!

_Please_ gimme some lovin'. Hit the purple button (Does a bad Xavier impersonation) You know you want to.


	4. Rapid Eye Movement

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A huge thank you goes out to my fantabulous reviewers. I lurve ya! You give me mucho inspiration. Keep 'em coming.

A/N: This is a change of pace, I think. I hope you like it, and for those of you who asked for RYRO stuff, here's a little something to tide you over.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 4: Rapid Eye Movement**

Xavier's Academy, Westchester, NY

September 7th, 3.56 AM

**Girl's Dorm**.

Rogue lay curled up on her bed watching the rain pelt against the window, tightly wrapped in both sheets and comforter to ward of the cold. The weather had gotten bad a couple of days before, as Storm left the Institute and the thunderclouds returned with a vengeance. She had been soaking away her bruises after a punishing martial arts class with Piotr, the metal man, as the first thunderclap pounded through the atmosphere.

It seemed that, even though she wasn't really an X-man anymore, she would still receive some training. She didn't mind all that much, as it made her feel like she still belonged at the school for the gifted.

Most people hadn't made a big deal out of her taking the cure. Sure, there were some remarks and a lot of looks, but she was used to those. It wasn't that different from what she received, when she was liable to suck out your life-essence through your toes or whatever.

Today, she had been staying indoors along with pretty much everyone else. After dinner she had watched Jubilee's favourite movie, 'Reign of Fire' ('cos, ohmygod, Christian Bale is like, so _cute_), with one part of her brain and doing a history essay with the other. Later, when Kitty insisted that they watch 'Clueless', she had said goodnight to Bobby and gone to her room to read a bit before sleeping.

Her boyfriend had waved her goodnight before returning to the popcorn war that had broken out between him, Cannonball and Angel, the latter of whom was cheerfully cheating, using his wings to block the fluffy projectiles. It was only after she had made it up half the stairs, she noticed that they hadn't even kissed goodnight.

The oversight wasn't what was keeping her awake, though. No, it was more the realisation that it didn't really bother her. Hers and Bobby's relationship had just become less intimate lately. Sure they held hands and sat together at meals, but that was pretty much it. There were almost no kissing, no deep, longing looks and no sweet endearments.

All in all, their relationship, apart from the occasional peck on the lips, had reverted to a pre-boyfriend/girlfriend state. They were still the best of friends and Rogue firmly believed that they always would be, but there simply wasn't any passion.

In Rogue's mind, it wasn't anybody's fault. It just played out the way most teenage relationships do, but it was awkward and tense and she'd just about had enough. She needed a friend, more than an emotionally distant boyfriend. Before Alkali, John had taken the 'friend' part in the drama that was her life, leaving her and Bobby free to just _be_.

They didn't have that luxury now, though, and with everything going on, she couldn't deal with the situation anymore. Neither of them was blind; they had both noticed the strain. She knew that, for both their sakes, she had to have the 'talk' with him, and soon.

_Tomorrow - I'll have to talk to him tomorrow. Oh, please let this go over well. I can't bear to lose him too. _

The rational part of her knew that she wouldn't. Bobby wasn't the kind of guy to get huffy over _any_ concern of hers; he was too generous, too even tempered and just too plain nice. Yes, she would drag him aside after classes and sit down with him tomorrow. She would do this right. He deserved that much.

Final plan of action decided upon, she scooted lower on the bed and closed her eyes, already giving in to fatigue.

**_It'll be alright, Rogue. Frosty can take a few hits. Believe me, I know._**

Her last sensations as she succumbed to sleep were a hot breath on the back of her neck, the feeling of warm arms enclosing her in a comforting embrace and a pair of soft lips gently pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

_**It'll all be alright. You'll see. Go to sleep, honey.**_

**Boys' Dorm**.

Bobby Drake dreamt of flames.

**Writhing and sinuous, they engulfed his bed and filled his vision with searing light. As his dream-self pressed closer to the head board to escape the blistering heat, he tried to extinguish the fire with his powers. A veritable blizzard flew from his hand, hitting the flames and passing through them without any effect. **

**Through eyes filled with terrified tears, he seemed to glimpse a figure emerging from the inferno.**

"**John? Is that you?"**

**When he received no answer, he desperately tried to put out the flames again, throwing sheets of ice over them - either to smother them or freeze them, he didn't really know.**

_**Oh, don't even, Drake. I belong here, and you know it. This is my space too, always will be.**_

**While he watched, the figure seemed to move closer. It was shrouded in tenebrous light, making it an ever changing silhouette against the fiery backdrop. **

"**Please, no. Don't come any closer. Please go away… I can't…"**

_**Tsk tsk. And here I thought you said I never should have left. Aren't I supposed to be the schizo here? Make up your mind, already.**_

"**John…Pyro I can't see you. Put out the fire, man."**

**Everything went dark.**

_**Is this what you wanted, Bobby? Can you see me any better without the fire?**_

"**No… That's not what I meant. Come on, man. It was just too much, way too much."**

**_I wanna see your eyes. Open your eyes, Bobby. Trust me, I can control it now._**

**He opened eyes, he didn't even remember closing. All around him was darkness, a soft dark void, like right before the first Light.**

_**Getting religious on me now? All right then…**_

**A whisper breezed around him, like the early morning wind,**

_**Fiat Lux.**_

**A gentle glow grew into being, held carefully by frost-bitten hands. As Bobby watched with bated breath it expanded to play in mischievous, caramel coloured eyes.**

_**And there was Light. **_

"_**Don't worry, Bobby, I can control it now."**_

Iceman slept peacefully throughout the night, and woke with the memories of a familiar half-smile and a strong image burned into his retinas:

Flames reflected on deep waters.

**TBC**

"Fiat Lux"/ (Latin) Let there be light.

**A/N**: Okay… So kinda short, but hey! Let's all play 'Spot the X-men movie quote'! This chapter should also give you a hint about where I'm going with the plot… Lighter fluid and Molotovs to those who get it right.

I always perceived Pyro to be prone to theatrics, and I like him that way. You know, epic. So yeah… You don't get any more epic than the good Book, now do ya? I hope my use of biblical quotes hasn't offended anyone. Although I'm not an active Christian, I love the Bible and, seeing as forgiveness is a major theme in this story, I really don't see a problem with me using it. So there…


	5. A Flame by Any Other Name

**Disclaimer**: See chapter one

**Reviews**: Keep the fires burning!

**N/A**: Thank you to all my lovely Pyrophiliacs for the lovely reviews! I love you with the raging passion of a thousand burning suns! (What? Was that a bit too much? Naahh…)

This chapter is dedicated to the ever lovely Dama Jade for making me blush and curling her toes. Enjoy.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 5: A Flame by Any Other Name**

**(would burn as hot)**

Xavier's Academy, Westchester, NY

September 7th, 10.22 PM

Medical Lab

Doctor Hank McCoy looked up from his battered copy of 'Models of Democracy,' a book that had been in his possession since his student days. Usually the book had no trouble keeping him interested, but not tonight, it would seem. There was far too much on his mind.

Taking off his reading glasses, he rubbed his tired eyes with one hand and glanced over at his young charge, lying on the hospital issue bed, covered by a clean blue thermal blanket. Ororo and Logan had brought the boy in late yesterday night, while the students were all sleeping and entrusted him to Hank's care. He hadn't woken up yet, although there _had_ been signs that he would soon do so.

Just this morning, around four, the unconscious young man had shown evidence of REM sleep, his eyes moving behind the lids, a small smile playing about his lips. That smile, coupled with the now fading bruises on his face had made the boy look rather macabre in Hank's opinion, and he wondered what could make a terrorist like Pyro smile in his sleep.

Doctor McCoy had spent several minutes the first night, studying the young man's appearance, trying to reconcile the slender face and almost delicate bone structure of John Allerdyce, age eighteen, with the merciless destructive force that was Pyro. He hadn't seen the boy up close on Alcatraz, but judging from the havoc he had wreaked, Hank had imagined something a great deal more sinister. No this book definitely shouldn't be judged by its cover!

Putting his reading material and glasses down on the table, he rose with a groan from the hard-as-steel Kevlar chair he had been sitting on and walked over to the bed. On the way, he turned the radio on to his favourite classical station and the soothing violins of Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D flowed through the vault-like room. Stretching with something akin to a growl he dug a fist into the small of his back.

His entire body was aching and it was slowly killing him. Everything in the room had been fireproofed as much as possible in the event of 'accidents', which was a practical move, but made for very uncomfortable chairs, he thought.

_Face it Hank, you're not as young as you used to be._

Checking the fluid IV and the EBP with long practised movements, he noted down the results on a stainless steel clipboard with a thoroughly chewed pencil. The boy's temperature was down to a healthy (for Pyro) 39 degrees centigrade. His heart rate had dropped somewhat and he seemed to be resting comfortably.

Since he was already up, the doctor decided he might as well change the bandages. The healing had been extraordinary, which was unusual for the boy, according to medical records from before he left the school. The cut above his brow had completely closed and only an almost invisible scar and some bruising remained. The same was true for the smaller abrasions on his face and torso. Hank believed he could almost see the skin knitting together in front of his very eyes!

Normally with injuries like those John had sustained, extensive surgery was necessary. A piece of shrapnel had embedded itself in his stomach, piercing the abdominal wall, and his back had probably been broken at some point. One fatal injury and one that would have left him quadriplegic, and yet, here he was, with no more than a rather deep flesh wound and some very nasty bruising to show for it.

_The recuperative power of the young will never cease to amaze me!_ He thought, shaking his mane of blue hair in wonder.

He saw evidence of it everywhere in this school. Take Rogue and Iceman for example. In the last couple of months, both youths had been put through the proverbial wringer, and had come out the other side with enough energy and humanity to handle their long awaited 'break up talk' with admirable maturity.

**Hank had been on his way to the kitchen to get yet another thermos a coffee, when he had caught part of their conversation originating from within the small library on the first floor.**

"**Are you sure, Marie? I mean, is it me? You know physical… err… intimacy has never been factor in our relationship for me, don't you? It doesn't bother me. You know that right?"**

"**Yeah… yes, I know, Bobby. It's just that, even before the cure, we were more – together – ya know? I know you've felt it too."**

"**Felt what?"**

"**The distance – the… I don't know. The silence, I guess. It's like… like a sandcastle."**

"**A sandcastle? Rogue…"**

"**Hear me out for a moment, 'kay? It's like a sandcastle. Ya know, made of sand, and shaped into a castle."**

"**O-kay…"**

"**But now, the waves have, like, washed over it. The castle is gone, but there is still sand, see?"**

**By then Rogue had sounded frustrated by her own metaphor. Luckily the two teenagers knew each other well, and Bobby got the point.**

"**Oh… so what you're saying is this: Our love is err…sand, which we shaped into a castle and that was our relationship, right?"**

"**Yeah." She sounded embarrassed.**

"**And now the castle isn't there anymore, but the sand still is, right? Okay, so we still love each other, but not like that. Is that what you're saying?"**

"**Yeah, I guess it is. I really really love ya, Bobby, I do."**

"**I love you too, Rogue. I always will."**

"**I'm sorry."**

"**Don't be. It's okay. It's all okay."**

"**Thank you."**

"**No thank you. For the best year of my life." **

**At dinner, the two had sat together as usual, talked as usual and laughed together, also as usual. It was like they had never had the rather awkward conversation, he had overheard. And yet, it seemed as though a tension had been released. The air between them seemed clear, like the atmosphere right after a thunderstorm – fresh and new.**

_Yes, children recover quickly. They adapt._

"Maybe, someday, you will even have your friends back, Pyro," he said to his unconscious patient and gave him a calming pat on the shoulder. "Maybe sooner than you think."

_Quite remarkable._

With a last little squeeze of the young man's shoulder, he turned to return to his chair and his coffee.

"John…"

At the sound of the hoarse whisper, Doctor McCoy spun around so fast, he nearly fell. Not quite believing his ears, he quickly looked towards the bed where he was met by a pair of dazed and unfocused brown eyes.

"What… what was that, boy?" He stuttered.

"Name's John… I think I died…" was the hazy answer he received. "I don't know…Where…"

"Relax child, you're quite safe. We are at the mansion."

"Safe? What happened?" John slowly took in his surroundings. The artificial, blue tinted light, the bed, the strange blue creature in a lab coat…

"Wait. Who are you? What the hell is going on?" The words seemed to be agonisingly torn from the boy's throat. The, until now, languid eyes suddenly flared to life and seemed to glow in the dim lighting.

The temperature in the room rose by several degrees as the boy ripped out the IV line and yanked the EBP pads of his chest. To Hank, it was like stepping from a freezer into a furnace.

"Who… Are…You?" The words were repeated in a low, gravely voice strangely like the low roar of a bonfire. The boy was shaking, his right hand reflexively twitching.

_His igniter hand, good Lord!_

Feeling more than a little worried at the mix of terror and rage in the young man's eyes, Hank quickly moved to the bed to reassure him. He smiled reassuringly and held out his hand slowly, as one would to a wild animal.

"Shh…easy, John. It's alright. My name is Hank McCoy and I am a doctor. Now, if you would just focus on breathing evenly for a moment, I'll go and get Storm."

Rather than calm the boy, this seemed to almost frighten him. Like flicking a switch, the light went out of his eyes and all the fight seemed to drain out of the young elemental. John seemed to deflate before Beast's eyes. The brown eyes closed and a trembling breath left the boy's body.

"Good boy. I'll just be a minute," Hank said and turned to go to the com unit by the door.

"Wait."

A weak, bandaged hand reached out to hold the sleeve of his shirt, and John looked up at him pleadingly.

"Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong?" he asked in a small voice. And then, seeing the frown on the Doctor's face, he lowered his head in defeat and whispered: "She's going to send me away, isn't she?"

Hank's heart all but broke at the devastated look on the boy's face. He knew abandonment issues when he saw them - most mutants had been betrayed and left behind by their families in one way or the other, after all.

"Please, Sir, I have nowhere else to go."

The plea was spoken with that same broken, young voice, but John's eyes contained something Hank didn't expect: Resignation; like the last sentence had been more tradition, routine, than an actual appeal. Like he thought he already knew the answer.

_There is no hope in the boy. He's convinced he's already been judged and condemned. _

With a kind smile, Hank extracted his sleeve from the young man's grasp and instead put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, John. You're home, and you're not going anywhere. I know you're confused, but it will be alright. We'll take care of you, I promise. "

At this the young man's eyes flared again and he lifted his chin defiantly, suddenly all teenage attitude and arrogance.

"You promise? You _promise? _Oh, that's all right then, makes me feel all better, that does. Thank you _ever_ so much!" The words were uttered with a sickening sweetness, that didn't even pretend to hide all the aggression, cynicism and vitriol underneath.

_Lord, this child has issues. How many times has he been lied to, I wonder?_

"Yes, I promise," Hank said calmly, refusing to let the outburst faze him. "And now, if you'll just relax, I'll call Storm down." The boy just glared at him in silence.

Hank could feel the burning stare boring into the back of his skull all the way across the room. After he had called Storm, he turned around, quickly becoming even more irritated at the continued glare he received. Didn't the boy know how to blink?

John was sitting cross legged on the bed, idly scratching at his bandage with one hand and glaring with the rest of his body, or so it seemed.

"You might as well give it up, boy. You can't hurt me, just by looking at me, you know."

As a response, the boy lifted a sardonic eye brow and the temperature flared up again. As Hank began to sweat, John held up a little piece of gauze between his fingers, as if to inspect it.

"Is that so, Doc?" he asked slowly in a near hiss, like white hot steel in water.

_Oh, brilliant, Hank. Let's have a pissing contest with the mentally unstable pyrokinetic, shall we? _

A flash of victory appeared in the brown eyes boring into his. Beast swallowed.

_For the love of… pull yourself together, man! You have handled international conflicts; you can handle one angry teenager._

Straightening to his full, very impressive height and pulling his authority around him like a robe of highest office, the Beast responded with more bravado than he actually felt. "Seeing as I have read your files, and I therefore know for a fact that you cannot actually create flames on your own? Yes. That is so."

_Did the file say anything about controlling external temperature, though? Oh, Hell… I don't remember!_

The infuriating boy just smirked.

_What's he smiling at?_

"Wanna bet?"

_What _did_ the file say?_

Brown eyes turned to the piece of bandage and narrowed.

_What's he doing?_

The gauze began to smoulder.

_Oh. Hell!_

Pyro chuckled.

**TBC**.

**A/N:** Whoohoo… my first cliff hanger. I know I know… Eeevil little Ebon. For shame! Feel free to tell me what a horrible person I am in review form (points to review button). I dare ya.

Honestly I had a hell of a time with this chapter. I think it's kind of choppy or something. Please tell me what you think.

A/N 2: I have lately been informed by the kind Charmboy4, that some might find the title of my story in violation of the 'PG only' rule on summaries, so I'm afraid from next chapter on, the story will only be called 'Tabula Rasa' on the summary page, even if the real title remains the same. Thanks for the heads up charmboy4.


	6. Old Flames

**Disclaimer**: See chapter one.

**A/N**: Thank you all so much for reviewing! As you can see, it pays off big time. Here's another chapter.

This one is for PsYcHoThErApY for exercising mankind's God-given right to swear like sailors.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 6: Old Flames**

Last Chapter:

"_You might as well give it up, boy. You can't hurt me, just by looking at me, you know." _

"_Wanna bet?"_

_Brown eyes turned to the piece of bandage and narrowed._

_The gauze began to smoulder._

Oh. Hell!

_Pyro chuckled._

**And now, the continuation:**

"Oh… my… God!"

At the exclamation, Hank took time from planning an eventual defensive dive to the side - away from the surely imminent inferno - and looked in bewilderment at the obviously psychotic teen on the aluminium bed across the room. Pyro had stopped the mad chuckling almost as soon as he started and was now doubled over, one arm slung around his middle and in obvious pain.

The little piece of gauze had slowly drifted to the ground, turned to fine ash in the pyrokinetic's hand. It lay on the floor, forgotten – slowly dispersing as a decrease in temperature caused the air to move.

_Not 'just' kinetic anymore _he thought.

_Pyrosator. Not manipulator, but Creator._

Pyro was staring at his right hand in wonder, and he repeated the half choked words, barely audible through painful gasping and what strangely seemed like genuine laughter: "Oh. My God. I did it… I really did. She said I would be able to, but…Ow fuck!"

Here he fell back on the bed again, clutching his broken ribs, and thereby unintentionally aggravating the deep wound in his side. Hank could clearly see the bandage slowly turning red again.

_Idiot boy has pulled the stitches. Doesn't he realise he's injured?_

Beast's medical training and protective instincts immediately kicked in full force. A sentient being was in pain, and he'd be damned if he let it continue!

No matter how dangerous, unpredictable or down right scary the patient was, he'd taken an oath and he intended to uphold it to his dying day. After all, wasn't that what the X on his uniform signified: Helping even those who would never appreciate it – even those who would hate him for the very traits that made him able to do so?

"Pyro, you're bleeding again. You were injured only a few days ago, and are not quite healed yet. Will you let me help you?" he asked - voice low and as soothing as he could make it. Cautiously, he took a few tentative steps in the direction of the young man, who was now absently mumbling to himself.

"Pyro?" he repeated, trying to catch his attention.

"Huh?" The fire starter glanced in Hank's, as though he just realised he wasn't alone in the room.

He must have noticed the Doctor's apprehension, because a small, infuriating smirk suddenly grazed his features making him look all of sixteen years old.

"Oh, relax, Furbie. If I wanted to hurt ya, you'd be a smouldering pile of blue meat. We're cool, man. Just don't call me 'boy,' 'kay?"

"Yes, off course. I'll be sure to remember that," Hank said, trying to return to his professional demeanour. Walking over to a nearby cabinet, he asked over his shoulder: "If I may enquire as to what exactly you would prefer I call you, then?"

There was no immediate response.

Turning around with fresh bandages in hand, he saw his patient was deep in thought. The young man was looking at the vaulted ceiling with an intensity it didn't really warrant. Hank believed he could see Pyro's lips moving, forming words. Was he talking to himself now? As the doctor drew nearer, taking care to be visible to his patient at all times, he began to be able to make out words.

The young man seemed to be debating with himself. The words were disjointed and his eyes were tightly closed, moving under the lids as though he was seeing something move in the darkness.

"My name – 'what is your real name', he asks," the young man mused, frowning. "What do I want to be? Who will you stand with? I don't know. I don't know. Who do I want to be?"

With a deep sigh, Pyro looked at the Doctor standing a few feet from the bed. "I don't really know… just don't call me boy."

He seemed to realise that Hank was purposely keeping his distance. "I'm really sorry, Doc. I didn't mean…"

"Ah, don't worry about it, young man. Just please try to control yourself for a while, until we can figure out where to go from here. I do realise it must be disconcerting for you to suddenly wake up in a strange place with an unfamiliar face staring down on you."

Pyro's eyes twinkled a bit and the smirk made a stronger comeback. "Well I _was_ shocked, but I'm okay now. It's just that you're so damned _pretty_…"

A few minutes earlier. Upstairs rec- room.

A high pitched voice cut through the air, jolting Rogue out her contemplation of a badly written essay on Alexandre Dumas (or as Sam had spelled it: Alexander Dumbass.)

"And I'm like: 'I thought Romantic poetry was supposed to be, like super epic or something? What's so epic about daffodils?' And he goes: 'Well, Kitty. If you had read the background material, you would know.' And I'm like: 'Yeah, whatever. That's why I go to class, right? I mean all you do is repeating the book, so what's the point of reading it?' God! I hate English lit. Don't you?"

Kitty and Jubilee were perched on a couch in front of the TV, piles of homework precariously positioned on the armrests and floor. Kitty was prattling on about Warren's religious adherence to the 'classics' as he called them. The winged mutant had taken over Jean's Literature class, until a proper substitute could be found, and he had thoroughly disappointed those, who thought they would be slacking off.

Warren had what he liked to call a 'classical education,' consisting of poetry, politics, etiquette, business and music. His drive to please his father in spite of his 'defect' had led to him become an accomplished and responsible young man. He often acted older than his nineteen years, Rogue thought.

This had been a blessing for Storm, who was desperate to find replacement teachers for several classes and Warren wasn't the only 'volunteer'. Bobby and she had also been roped into teaching the younger students. Bobby had agreed to teach biology and physics, while Rogue taught arts and helped Wolverine with French class.

Finding out that the gruff, grouchy, and most importantly _manly_ Logan was fluent in 'Le langue d'amour' had left her in hysterical giggles for several minutes.

In the end, Logan had uttered a surly: "Hey, drop it already. I'm Canadian."

That _did_ make sense, she supposed, and she had reluctantly stopped laughing only to start again when he muttered that she had _no_ business making fun of him. "And besides, I like cursing in French. It's like wiping your ass with silk."

In spite of her protests, that she didn't know the language that well, he had basically bullied her into helping the youngest students with their 'Je suis- tu es' etc in revenge.

Still, she considered herself lucky. She only had to deal with five students, while Warren's class had instantly been filled with every girl between twelve and sixteen, who thought he was 'like way cute'.

_Those girls are enough to try the patience of saint, let alone an Angel!_

Smiling to herself she dutifully marked the paper in front of her with an 'F' and took the time to write down the reasons why Sam's work needed immediate improving. She had been planning to go easy on her pupils, but had decided to support the conscientious approach of her fellow teaching assistant. He needed all the help he could get, poor guy.

She was once again ripped out of her thought stream by Kitty's loud voice.

"Hello. Could we turn the heat down? It's like boiling in here, and I seriously do _not_ like sweating!"

_Hmm…It_ is_ kinda hot in here. _

As a matter of fact, it was _very_ hot. Looking around she noticed the windows had started to fog over, small rivulets of condensation gathering and painting uneven lines across the panes.

_What's going on? Is there a fire?_

Spotting Bobby in a corner, she saw that he was extremely flushed, even though he'd already taken off his sweatshirt. He always felt the heat more than everyone else, because of his low core temperature. He was looking as confused as her and meeting her eyes, he shrugged and walked over.

"It's coming from the basement, I think. Maybe the boiler is malfunctioning or something? The floor is hotter than the air." He said. "We should go check it out."

"Yeah, we'd better. And if there's a fire, we could sure use your powers to cool it down, before it blows up the house or somethin'," she agreed.

They left the rec-room together, as Jubilee's "Kitty, _chill_ already" made the entire room groan in exasperation.

As they made their way downstairs, Bobby honed his senses in on finding the place in the building that was the _least _cold. He'd always been able to detect cold, for what it was worth, but reversing that power would never have occurred to him before Alcatraz. The unexpected experience of turning into ice had really opened his mind to new possibilities. He had found that he could do stuff he hadn't realised he was capable of.

"This way, Rogue. It's not the boiler, though. I think it's coming from the med-lab," he said, clearly surprised.

"Are ya sure?" Rogue asked. "That's odd."

Suddenly, the temperature dropped again. It was like the air had never been heated in the first place. The two teens looked at each other, and Bobby glanced down the corridor leading to their destination.

"Yeah. Weird. You wanna keep going?" he asked, deferring to Rogue. After all, if there was trouble, she would be as good as defenceless.

For all the weirdness of the situation, neither teen felt particularly threatened - more like intrigued. Rogue looked down the grey hallway and shrugged to Iceman. She had to admit to herself that she was extremely curious for some reason. Unusual occurrences weren't very, well, unusual in this school, but she wanted – needed - to get to the med-lab and see what had caused the disturbance.

"Yeah, let's go," she said, grabbing her ex-boyfriend's hand and pulling him along.

They were about to round the last corner before the med-lab, when they heard it. It sounded like two voices laughing. Or rather, one was. The other one seemed to be gasping more than laughing. They both immediately recognised the deep booming voice of Doctor McCoy through the closed door. The other, however, sounded younger.

"Know who it is?" Rogue mouthed to Bobby.

"No idea," he replied, not quite truthfully, in a whisper. The second voice _did_ sound rather familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

They rounded the corner and walked the last twenty yards or so. They were almost at the door, when Storm came walking quickly around the corner from the other direction. The weather witch looked a bit winded and tense, but seemed to relax visibly at the sound of laughter. She held up a hand to the two teens, stopping them in their tracks.

"What are you two doing down here?" she asked them, a stern look on her face, as though they had been caught in a forbidden area.

"Well, uhh," Bobby stuttered.

"See, there was a temperature fluctuation upstairs, a really big one. We thought there might be a fire or somethin', so we went down here to check it out and stop it," Rogue explained. "But it's back to normal now."

Storm eyed the two youngsters intently. They bore her scrutiny in silence, waiting for her to say something. After a little while, their principal seemed to come to a decision and cleared her throat.

"A few days ago, Logan and I left the Institute for San Francisco."

Both teens nodded. It had been the day the storm had broken.

"We had learned that the clean up crews at Alcatraz had found a survivor."

Storm watched Rogue and Bobby take in the information. Bobby, being the more logically inclined of the two, quickly put two and two together. He lifted his brows in surprise and swallowed.

"You mean?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

_**I belong here, and you know it.**_

_It can't be…_

"Bobby? What is it?" Rogue asked, concerned. Her friend had become rather pale all of a sudden.

Storm nodded at Bobby's half question and continued: "Given the event upstairs, I think you can guess who," she said.

Rogue looked uncomprehendingly at her teacher for a moment, and then her mouth fell open, full lips forming a soft 'o' of realisation.

"He's alive? He made it?" she asked, and then in a smaller voice: "John?"

"How is he? Has he been…? I mean, has he done anything while he has been here?" Bobby asked.

Thoughts and memories were churning like crazy, buzzing around in his skull like fireflies on PCP. Who was in that room? The wry and sarcastic trickster/bastard/best friend? Or the terrorist who hadn't hesitated before flinging fire at him?

_Is that you, John? Or is it Pyro?_ He wondered.

He realised that he had missed half of Storm's explanation, and quickly reigned in his wayward mind and paid attention.

"…wasn't conscious," she was saying. "Hank just called me a couple of minutes or so ago. He's just woken up." At the sound of another bout of Beast's infectious laughter, she added: "Apparently he's well enough to make jokes."

"Well ma'am. The only time Johnny isn't joking is when he's swearing, sleeping or sulking," Rogue said with a small smile. "Can we go in there with you?"

Storm was taken aback by the pleading looks she received from the two teenagers. She saw no brewing animosity, only hope and eagerness.

"On one condition. Neither of you will do anything aggressive in there. There will be no fighting under this roof, is that clear?"

Even though the admonition was mainly directed at Bobby, both he and Rogue nodded.

"I don't wanna fight him, Storm. I'm done fighting," Iceman said in a quiet, firm voice. "I just want my friend back, even if I have to personally drag his head out of his a…ahem," he finished when Storm's sent him a disapproving look.

"Alright then. Let's go see what's so funny, shall we?"

The door opened with a slight hydraulic 'hiss' that was quite drowned out by Hank's laugh. He was sitting in a very uncomfortable looking chair, his glasses in one hand as he tried to wipe at the mirthful tears running into his facial fur.

John was reclining on a metal bed, his face turned away from the door, toward the doctor. His arms were loosely crossed over his chest and he was talking over Beast's snickering.

"Yeah, yeah… Laugh it up, fur ball. I said you were pretty, I did not say I'd buy you dinner and a movie. Geez. One little compliment, and he's cracking. Such a girl…" He was grumbling in what Rogue and Bobby both recognised as his: I'm-joking-but-I-will-not-show-amusement-because-Pyro-doesn't-laugh voice.

_It's like he never left_ Bobby thought.

He couldn't count the times he had heard that voice directed at some poor unsuspecting victim, while trying desperately to keep a straight face. John, on the other hand, had perfected his poker face already before he came to the institute.

Sarcasm and pointed commentary had been par for the course in their daily conversations, and John never _ever_ dropped the act. Therefore it came as quite a shock to see his shoulders slightly shaking with suppressed laughter.

It was only then Bobby actually paid attention to the words being said. John was going on about Doctor McCoy's personal grooming habits.

"…You probably sleep with curlers in your fur, like a goddamned woman."

He couldn't help it. The absurdity of the situation finally caught up to him. This was simply too much. The stress that had built over the last few months was released in a loud snort of laughter.

At the sound, the room's two inhabitants turned to the door. Beast quickly recovered his equilibrium and smiled in welcome.

"Ororo. So good of you to join us."

John, however, didn't come equipped with a politician's social gyroscope. His eyes flickered rapidly between his two friends eventually locking with Bobby's, and suddenly he wasn't feeling very well.

**His world slowly seemed to be swallowed in screams and the stench of burning rubber, flesh and blood, _HotColdAngerRegretVictoryDefeatFear_, and those ice blue eyes. **

**The world was dissolving around him, there was only death. He heard the sound of running feet - could smell the terror in the air, and he knew he was dying. Everything was cold – so, so cold…**

**And then a voice broke through the chaos around him.**

**_No death for you, little fire starter. _Something_ will rise from these ashes_**

**An offer made, a deal accepted. He remembered now…**

Everyone in the room noticed when John put both hands to his eyes and started falling forward. Rogue was the first to reach him, and she caught him around the waist and manoeuvred him back on the bed, so he wouldn't fall off.

"John? John? What's wrong? Can ya hear me?" she said loudly, near panic. What was going on?

"Rogue, I need you to move back from him. Please give Hank room to help him."

Storm pulled the distraught teen aside to give the Doctor some space. Bobby put his arms around her and whispered comfortingly: "It'll be alright, Rogue. It'll all be alright. You'll see."

At these words, so familiar, Rogue relaxed. She gently untangled herself from Iceman's arms and moved to head of the bed, well out of the way of the Doctor, who was taking some kind of measurement and Storm who was gently but firmly holding John's thin form down on the bed as he shook.

She extended a hand and lightly stroked sweat soaked hair back from her friend's brow. "Yeah, I know, Bobby. Everything will be fine."

She directed a smile at the Kryokinetic and held her hand out to him. "I think he should know that we're here, don't you?" she said.

Understanding dawned on Bobby's face and he took her hand and walked over to the other side of the headboard and put a hand on John's shoulder.

"We're here, John. It's okay, please come back," Rogue murmured, while she continued to stroke his hair. "We aren't going anywhere."

"Come on, man. No need for dramatics. It's all good, and you still owe me twenty for that last 'how fast can you melt an iceberg' bet. I'm not lettin' that slide, so you might as well drop the act. Come on, wake up. I'll even let you punch me. I guess I owe you a freebie after last time."

Their efforts seemed to pay of as, after a minute, John's eyelids started to flutter open.

"It was a head butt you cheap bastard," he mumbled, glaring blearily at Iceman.

"John," Rogue breathed.

He turned his eyes up to the young woman who was still stroking his hair with a gloveless hand.

"Hi, Marie," he said softly, looking into her eyes.

"Welcome back," she said, returning his smile until a thought struck her.

_Wait. I never told him my real name_

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned. He was acting kind of strange, too calm, and too collected.

Tilting his head a little to one side, as if he was considering her question and taking inventory of his faculties he answered her with a small gentle smile.

"Yeah. More than okay."

His grey eyes sought out hers again, held them for a moment and then focused on her bare hand.

"Oh, Rogue," he sighed sadly, covering her fingers with his own.

Expecting a diatribe of 'Coward, traitor, weak,' Rogue let out an aggressive "What?"

"Is this what you wanted?" he just asked, lacing their fingers together, almost unconsciously.

_Is it? I don't know, John. God I don't know. I wanna be able to touch, like we are now. It felt like part of me died that day, but I just don't know._

To him she just said: "Yeah, it is."

"Then I'm sorry."

**TBC**

**A/N**: My god! What a monster! Nine whole pages… phew. I spoil you people rotten, but you so deserve it.

There are an abundance of movie quotes here. Logan's comment about cursing in French is from Matrix2 and let's all play 'find the X-men Movie quote' again, shall we?

On language. I do realise that my French sucks out loud, so please, if I misspelled or something, tell me!

And now for some shameless begging. Review? Please? Your comments and opinions are so inspiring, and they are 100 responsible for my fast updates.

Next on 'Tabula Fucking Rasa': **Chapter 7- From the Ashes**


	7. From the Ashes

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Okay, first of all. Thank you to all my reviewers! You guys completely blow me away (like nitro.)

Secondly, this chapter is short, I know, but it wanted to end where it did, so what are ya going to do?

This one is one hundred percent angst, so we're going for another change in pace, just to keep you guys on your toes…

And so, after being threatened with shotguns and treated to puppy-dog eyes, here's chapter seven. Enjoy.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 7: From the Ashes**

"_**Oh, Rogue," he sighed sadly, covering her fingers with his own.**_

"_**Is this what you wanted?" he just asked, lacing their fingers together, almost unconsciously.**_

_**To him she just said: "Yeah, it is."**_

"_**Then I'm sorry."**_

"Sorry? Sorry for what, John?" she asked. "Ya look like somebody just died."

John squeezed her hand and gave her a sad half-smile.

"No, no one died," he said with a quiet ironic chuckle. "Far from it. I'm just sorry that I assumed…" Here he looked briefly at Bobby.

"I guess I was wrong. Never mind that now, it doesn't matter at this point," the last part was mumbled, more directed at himself than at Rogue. He softly patted her hand a few times and looked up at her with a sympathetic smile.

"It's okay. It doesn't matter why you did it, as long as you've been happy."

At these gentle words, Rogue's eyes flared to life and, burning with emerald fire, they met his.

"You know what? No, it _does_ matter," She hissed.

_Who the hell does he think he is? Who is he to pity me? I _am_ happy, now, and that's that!_

"You can keep your approval, St John Allerdyce! You have _no_ right to judge me or my decisions. I don't care if you think I'm pathetic or weak or…or a traitor. You don't know what it's like, _Pyro_, so don't ya _dare_ judge me!" Furious, she yanked her hand away from his.

Had Rogue not been so intent on making her point; had she not been quite so furious, she might have seen something that would have surprised her.

John looked like he'd been slapped. His eyes were opened wide and it took him several tries to get a word past his lips.

"What the fuck, Rogue? I don't think you're pathetic. Where the hell did that come from? I would never…"

His protest was cut short by the quiet voice of his best friend.

"Uhh… you kinda did, man. At the cure centre?" Bobby ventured.

At John's uncomprehending look, Iceman continued. "You said that she was pathetic for wanting the cure, right before you blew up the building, remember?"

"I did? Wait…I _blew up a hospital_?"

John looked horrified. Grey eyes went quickly from one person to another, seemingly begging for someone to say 'just kidding'. Finally they landed on Rogue.

"Were you there? Oh god, were you hurt? I don't…"

Again, Bobby broke in, a frown marring his even features. "No, it was a community centre in New York. We met outside and you tried to pick a fight with me… you really don't remember?" he asked incredulous.

John stared intently at his hands lying in his lap, a look of intense concentration on his face. There was something, just out of reach.

_New York - A community centre. Why can't I… oh…_

He remembered.

"_**Always afraid of a fight." Shaking his head at the weakness displayed before him. 'Ungrateful insects, all of them. Lining up to kill the best parts of themselves'… Did they even realise what they were giving up? He'd show them! Flicking his fingers, relishing in the feeling of flames licking along his skin, he flung out his arm and then… **_

A whisper.

"I did."

John closed his eyes, only to see flames erupt through panorama windows. A single tear made its way down his cheek. Oh yes, he remembered his actions all too well, now, even if he didn't want to.

_You said you would take the pain away, you lying bitch!_ His mind screamed. _I thought we had a deal. You said I could start over! _

Out loud he asked: "How many?"

When he didn't receive an immediate answer, he opened his eyes and looked at Storm, who was standing a few feet to the side, next to a sympathetic looking Beast. "How many?" he repeated.

"There were three people killed in that particular attack: one technician and two mutants. Several others were wounded." Even if her eyes were soft, Storm's voice was even and emotionless, stating the facts without decorating them or covering up the ugliness of what he'd done.

"You don't remember?" she asked, her tone now low and somewhat gentler.

John swallowed and looked down, frowning.

"I do. I do remember; I just don't know _why_ I… why I would…_kill_" his voice broke on the last word and he choked back something that might have been a sob. Blinking rapidly, he tore his eyes away from hers and turned them to the ceiling.

'Three dead and several wounded. _That particular attack_.'

"There were others? Other attacks?" He asked, directing his question at no one in particular. At Storm's factual "yes," he just nodded.

"I'd like to be alone for a while please."

Beast answered him with a regretful shake of his head: "I'm afraid that's not possible, John. Due to your medical condition, at least one person has to be with you at all times."

Both Bobby and Rogue expected John to argue and bitch at great length about this. He had never been one for restrictions, and could be quite vocal in his protests. However, to their surprise, John just nodded, seemingly resigned.

"Storm, then," he said. "Please," he added, almost as an afterthought.

As Rogue filed out of the room after Bobby and Beast, she turned her head and looked back.

John sat on the bed with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms tightly wound around them. He looked so small and

_Vulnerable… He looks vulnerable. My god! When did he become human?_

She noticed that he was looking in her direction and, briefly, shocked green eyes met with wounded grey ones across the room.

Rogue tried to convey… something with her gaze, but before she even had a chance to figure out what that might be, John broke their contact by doing something she had never seen him do before: lowering his eyes and bowing his head.

_It's like he can't even stand looking at me. Like he's… ashamed._

The last thing she saw as the door to the infirmary hissed shut would be burned into her retinas for quite a while:

Storm gently placing a hand on the trembling shoulder of a crying Pyro.

**TBC.**

**A/N:** Yes… bring on the angst! This chapter was a bit heavy on the dialogue and meaningful silences, but I hope you got the feeling I was trying to convey, regardless. There are a few more hints in this chapter, as to what happened at Alcatraz… anybody want to venture a guess yet?

Please take the time to review. It makes me feel all warm and cuddly. (And also, it makes me write faster… no really)

**Next** on 'Tabula Fucking Rasa'. **Chapter 8: Scarred and Shell Shocked**


	8. Scarred and Shell Shocked

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one.

**A/N: **Hey, and sorry for the slight delay. I had like fourteen different ideas for this chapter clamouring for my attention, until a certain someone glares at Pyro decided to torch the majority, leaving me with this one. I'm not so sure it's the best one, but hey. It's a chapter, right? Further angst in this one, along with FAR too many unfinished sentences. My grammar teacher would execute me for this… I swear!

So, without further ado, here's chapter eight, Unbeta'ed for your hilarity.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 8: Scarred and Shell Shocked**

**Last Chapter on Tabula Fucking Rasa.**

_**Vulnerable… He looks vulnerable. My god! When did he become human?**_

_**It's like he can't even stand looking at me. Like he's… ashamed.**_

**The last thing she saw as the door to the infirmary hissed shut would be burned into her retinas for quite a while:**

**Storm gently placing a hand on the trembling shoulder of a crying Pyro.**

**And now, the continuation:**

Outside the Med-Lab:

The metal door closed with what sounded like a peal of thunder to Rogue – a sound of finality. She had the urge to kick it and scream "Let me back in! Don't take him away from me again!"

Realising what she'd just thought, but unable to process the meaning of those thoughts, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It all felt so surreal: coming down here, hearing laughter, seeing him, venting on him, seeing signs of emotions on his face, she'd always hoped were there, somewhere: caring, empathy, concern, even affection?

"What's happened to him, Mr McCoy?" The question was not the gentlest introduction to a conversation, she knew, but the overflow of emotion she was experiencing demanded a spillway, and curiosity seemed to be it.

One moment, Doctor Hank McCoy was happily contemplating grabbing a cup of Java and relaxing for a while in a _comfortable_ chair, while processing current events, and the next, he was confronted by the hopeful expressions of two teenagers, who were both too used to getting their way and too damn good at the 'puppy-dog' look, in his humble opinion.

Resigning himself to a lengthy explanation (in layman's terms no less), he sighed and said: "Let's go upstairs for that particular discussion, my friends. These old bones need a chair with actual cushions before engaging in any more drama."

Hank noticed that, while Mr. Drake readily agreed, Miss D'Ancanto eyed the door to the med- lab with a mixture of longing and apprehension. The young woman seemed indecisive and somewhat unwilling to leave. Hank was about to reassure her, when Iceman beat him to it.

"He's not going anywhere, Rogue. Don't worry." The young man put a comforting arm around her shoulders and gently steered her towards the staircase.

_Quite an amazing young man; such empathy and intelligence - he'd make a fine doctor,_ Beast mused while they made their way upstairs.

While walking, he tried to make sense of the situation, going over his test results and observations to prepare to explain to the two youths something he did not completely understand himself.

The boy seemed fine, physically. There did not seem to be any lasting damage from his Alcatraz ordeal, other than the wounds and scratches, and those were fading fast. He'd have some scars, for sure, but other than that, he'd be fine.

_Not bad, considering he should Not. Be. Alive!_

The three mutants relocated to Beast's office on the first floor. Surrounded by his books and his furniture, Hank instantly felt some of the pent up tension leave his body.

The logical, scientific part of him identified the phenomenon as his 'cave equals safe' instinct. He waved Bobby and Rogue into a sofa, situated in front of his small fireplace and gratefully sank into his favourite chair across from them. He folded his hands in front of him and leaned back, regarding the two teens.

"I realise you have a multitude of questions, but I must ask for you patience for a while longer," he said.

Seeing that they both were ready to protest, he held up a hand and continued. "I have had no experience with Mr. Allerdyce until now. I realise that he must seem somewhat altered to you, but I cannot make even an educated guess as to his condition, without knowledge of his prior personality and so forth. So if you'd be so kind as to tell me what he was like, before this entire episode?"

"What he was like?" Bobby said with a look of contemplation on his face. "I guess he was kinda…"

"Angry," Rogue interrupted quietly. "He was always angry – even when he wasn't, ya know? I mean, he never showed any big emotions, but it was like everything he did do or say was coloured by this… rage. I have no idea why, though. It just seemed like he had a major beef with the world as a whole."

Bobby nodded his agreement. "Yeah, I think maybe it was something that happened to him before he came here, yeah? Like something from his childhood? I don't know for sure – he never talked about it, you see – but I think he was left by his parents or something. Does that make sense, Doctor? 'That what you were looking for?" he asked.

"It could very well be," Hank speculated. "According to his file, Mr. Allerdyce has been in and out of institutions all his life. Orphanage in Sydney first, from the age of three, then short stints in foster families all over Australia and lastly, when he was fourteen, he spent eight months in juvenile hall in Perth."

"He went to prison? What for?" Rogue asked.

"Man-slaughter. His last foster father was apparently abusive. At the hearing, John said that Mr. Dennis Allerdyce had been beating his wife, and that he, John, had tried to stop him, by pushing him away from her. According to the boy, Mr. Allerdyce tripped and fell into the gas stove."

"He burned to death?" Bobby asked in horror.

"Yes," said Doctor McCoy. "Mr. Dennis Allerdyce was found on the kitchen floor, resembling nothing more than a cremated corpse. Mrs Allerdyce was curled up in a corner, scared speechless while John was standing very close to the victim, just staring at him, apparently unscathed apart from a few bruises and a rather nasty burn on his hand, which the mother later said had been caused by John trying to hold Dennis down while he burned. What really got the crime scene investigators, however, was that the rest of the kitchen was completely undamaged. A fire hot enough to burn meat like that should have spread like a plague, but nothing else showed signs of burning – only Dennis Allerdyce."

Silence reigned in the office after that revelation. The only audible sound was that of the merrily crackling fireplace. Bobby eyed flames. They didn't seem comforting anymore; if anything, they were now sinister messengers, bringers of death.

Could John really have… it didn't bear thinking about.

_Why didn't he tell me? He never said anything. I would have listened, I could have…_

Another voice interfered with his mental monologue. It sounded surprisingly like the professor's reasonable voice.

_But would you have understood? Think of the differences in your situation. How could anyone from a family like yours possibly have related to someone like him?_

He felt like kicking himself. John had been his best friend, how could he not have noticed something was wrong? In Boston, in his comfy family home, what had he said? _'Don't burn anything.'_

"Fuck!" Iceman buried his hands in his thick hair and leaned forward, his nose almost touching his knees.

"Indeed," Beast agreed soberly. "I understand that you were his roommate while he resided here, is that correct, Mr. Drake?"

Bobby nodded and straightened, so he could look at the doctor. "He'd been here for about five months before I started school."

"Did you notice – did he ever have nightmares, periods of insomnia or maybe anxiety attacks?" Beast looked intently at the young man in front of him. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? No matter how insignificant it may seem it could be important."

"No – nothing. He slept like a log most nights. He didn't seem leery around the kitchen, he didn't get… I mean he was never afraid of anyone or any_thing_. It was always just spite, anger and sarcasm with him. I never saw any sign of what you just told us. I mean… he didn't even have an accent!" Bobby let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

"Hmm… it makes sense," Hank murmured to himself, absently rubbing his chin.

_Oh, Charles…Control always was your answer to everything._

"Excuse me, Mr McCoy, but what makes sense?" Rogue asked timidly. The already pale girl was white as a sheet and her arms were crossed tightly around her middle as though she was cold.

"His current condition, Rogue; it's consistent with a rare form of PTSD. Do you know what that is?" Both teens shook their heads 'no'.

"PTSD is short for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Beast explained. "It is most often seen with war veterans, victims of violence, POW's and people who have been involved in serious accidents. One of the symptoms of this affliction is flashbacks to the trauma-inducing period, and the seizure you witnessed in Med-Lab might very well have been one such. Another is partial or complete amnesia."

Hank glanced at the teens, making sure that they were following his reasoning.

"I did not consider this particular ailment to be the 'culprit' until you told me about his past behaviour," he sighed.

"It is my belief that Professor Xavier placed mental blocks in the boy's mind, to control or prevent such episodes. The blocks would have disassociated him completely from the incident, but unfortunately this solution also left the mental wounds to fester. It is very possible that the events on Alcatraz Island caused him to break through those barriers, resulting in his current condition."

"So you're saying that it's a delayed reaction to something that happened to him years ago?" Bobby asked. "But the Alcatraz thing – there was nothing there that could have reminded him of the… incident with his foster parents. How could that have triggered anything? And," he continued, his voice lowered and angry. "How could the professor let this happen? He must have known something was wrong?"

"I do not know how the trigger might have worked, Mr. Drake. And unfortunately, there is no way to be sure without the aid of a telepath or a _very_ skilled psychiatrist. However, at the moment, it is my best guess. As for the heightened state of his powers or the emotional fluctuations, I cannot even venture a guess at this point in time. It seems as though he has lost all filters between his feelings and his outward behaviour. Everything he feels is acted upon; he has no control over his emotional state, which is, naturally, quite dangerous with a mutant of his power level and destructive capabilities."

Looking down at his glasses, he wondered how much the children really knew about recent occurrences. Coming to a decision, he added: "And the mental block-method was a tried and true course of action that had never failed Charles… until recently."

**Meanwhile in the Med-Lab:**

"What? How do you know, John?

Grey eyes closed tightly.

**_Standing, staring into a microscope, absently pushing back a lock of long red hair that got in the way. A broken gun lying to one side. A small smile playing about soft lips. "Ahh… Eric, your cattle -prod has an expiration date…" _**

**_Considering telling him, but no. Let him know what it feels like to be kept in the dark. Absently dissolving the evidence of the discovery and leaving the tent without a backwards glance. _**

"I just know, Storm. Don't ask me how, I don't remember.

"_**Liar."**_

"How can you know this, but not remember how?"

"I said, I Don't Know!" Caramel eyes glaring at the African woman.

"_**Ah… but you do."**_

_**Breath slamming back into his shattered body along with something else… knowledge. Thoughts, ideas, beliefs and a rage so pure, it could cut through diamonds. **_

"_**Are you afraid of the Dark, little fire starter? Because I am dark… so dark."**_

"But you're sure? John, are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I can give you the damn chemical formulas to prove it, if you want them!"

"The cure…"

"Is not permanent."

**TBC**

**A/N: **I repeat my deepest apologies, if this chapter was not quite up to standard, and I blame a certain blond teenage pyromancer for being difficult and annoying. I don't know why I put up with him, honestly.

Pyro smirks

Hehe…. Oh yeah, that's why blushes

Anyway, please take the time to leave a review! I had ten for the last chapter! Whoohoo! You guys rock (please continue to do so!)

Ebon Hush

Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa. **Chapter 9: What Doesn't Kill Us.**


	9. What Doesn't Kill Us

**Disclaimer**: See chapter One

**A/N**: A million thanks go out to my fabulous and generally incredible reviewers, old and new. You make me feel all warm and fuzzy with your shameless praise and encouragement. (Not to mention all the very inventive death threats). Keep 'em coming, please?

**Warning!** Here be boarder line fluff! (Yay)

**Last time on Tabula Fucking Rasa**

"**The cure…"**

"**Is not permanent."**

**And now, the continuation:**

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 9: What Doesn't Kill Us…**

Corridor outside the Girls' Dormitory.

September 8th, 1.46 AM

The storm had abated at last, leaving only a steady downpour. Heavy sheets of rain pelted the ground unmercifully, drowning the last of the little plants and flowers clinging to life in the carefully tended beds. The water's loud tapping against the windows could be heard all over the Mansion, and even spilled through closed doors into the dark hallway on the second floor.

The Mansion had been cooled down by the powerful gusts of wind that had battered at it for days, and with one last blast of heat, the generator had lost the battle against the chill of coming winter that crept into the old brick walls and settled.

At least that's what the students were told, in an attempt to explain the sudden temporary rise in temperature from the basement earlier that evening.

As far as they knew, the overtaxed boiler had blown, and a little later, the generator had shorted as a result. No one was told any specifics, but most people were blaming either the storm or one of the new students, Tabitha, or 'Boom-Boom' as she was called.

No matter the culprit, the result was the same: the entire student body except of course Bobby, were freezing their collective asses of.

Even if she was used to the balmy weather and heat of the South and felt the chill in her very bones, the cold didn't even register on Rogue's misery scale at this moment, as she was making her way to her room.

Actually, only one thing did. Running rampant in her head like a bowling ball, mercilessly crushing all her dreams was one sentence - five words, spoken in a tone usually reserved for delivering news of death in the family.

"**The Cure is not permanent."**

**At Storm's quiet words, Rogue had felt like she had been kicked in the gut. Her principal had reached out to embrace her or maybe to put a hand on her shoulder, but she had flinched away from the touch.**

_**Old habits die hard.**_

**In retrospect, Storm had looked just as crushed as she felt. The normally stoic and strong woman had tears in her eyes, convincing Rogue that this was not some cruel joke, but the very painful truth. **

**Rogue had found it hard to breathe through the weight pressing on her chest. She felt as though she was dying – she felt cold. **

**Ironically, the sensation was very similar to taking the cure in the first place: Just as the chemical had once coursed through her veins killing the part of her that was 'Rogue,' those five words were now destroying 'Marie.' **

**She hadn't been able to look at anyone in the room – hadn't been able to face them, afraid of what she'd see. Rogue had felt numb. What to say? **

**_Do I cry? Do I rant? (Do I really mind?) Can I live with never touching anyone ever again, now that I've been reminded of how it feels? I don't know - I can't… I…_**

"**How long do I have left?" she'd asked, with the blank and resigned tone of someone who had just been informed that they were terminally ill. **

"**No more than a week, I'm afraid. It could be longer, but you are a Class three, and it wears out faster with the more powerful mutants," Storm had replied. She had been looking for something more to say, though Rogue wasn't sure Storm even knew what. **

"**Oh… it's just as well I didn't throw out my gloves, then," she had said, just to break the silence. **

**At this she had felt Bobby's arms around her, sure and unhesitant. "Rogue, I'm so sorry," he had whispered into her hair.**

**She didn't think she had ever been more grateful for having a friend like him. He had always hugged her like this, even after she took the 'cure.' This was still hers. She could still keep this closeness. The physical contact jolted her out of her fugue and she had felt the first tear begin to make its way down her cheek.**

"**Thank you, Bobby," she had whispered back and right then, things hadn't seemed so bad. She had been able to sit down and hear Storm explain the details. The weather witch hadn't said where she got the information from, but that didn't matter to Rogue right then, anyway. She carefully built walls around her grief and confusion, and a sense of calm spread through her body. It just wouldn't do to have hysterics in public.**

**The calm had lasted through the explanations, through the awkward 'goodnight's and most of the way to her room.**

**She had been walking along the corridor, a pleasant buzz of white noise the only sound in her head, when she had come across the painting of a young woman with a child, hanging on the corridor wall. The young mother's beatific smile, seemed to be directed at her; taken aback by the mocking reminder, she could only stare. "You can never have this," it seemed to say.**

"**The Cure is not permanent."**

Rogue didn't know how long she had been staring at the picture. The part of her that remembered being Pyro, insisted that she didn't back down from a staring contest and, by the way, she should incinerate the bitch for pissing him/her off!

She could almost hear the agitated metallic clicking that always went along with a pissed of Pyro and see the slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes as he considered the flammability of the canvas in front of her. She found herself mirroring his well-remembered smirk at the thought of that pretty smile curling in on it self and melting into a grimace as the heat dissolved the paint-and-fabric face.

"Need a light?"

Rogue whipped her head around, tearing her eyes away from the piece-of-cinder-to-be in front of her to stare at him.

Pyro was leaning one shoulder against the wall a few meters behind her. He wore a smirk, uncannily resembling the one that had been on her face only seconds before, and his arms were loosely crossed in front of him.

As she stared, the smirk melted into a real smile, albeit a hesitant one. That smile, so unfamiliar on his face, coupled with the light blue drawstring pyjama pants and white T-shirt made Pyro look like – like John, she supposed. Just a beat-all-to-hell teenager.

With a shake of her head, she pulled her eyes away from the bandages on his wrists and found her voice. "What?"

John unfolded his arms and carefully pushed himself away from the wall, mindful of his injuries. He slowly walked up to stand in front of her, severely invading her personal space.

"You looked like you wanted to burn something," he said, eyeing the painting. Seeing Rogue's expression morphing into a surprised frown, he continued. "I of all people should know the facial expression of someone about to commit arson, don't you think?"

That brought a small involuntary smile to her face. "I guess," she conceded and turned her body towards the painting again, thereby unconsciously creating a bit of space between them. "What are ya doing out of bed, anyway?" It came out sounding a little accusatory, she realised even as she spoke.

John's matter of fact answer took her by surprise: "I wanted to see you."

Her eyes darted to the side, trying to gauge his expression, only to meet his. He was unabashedly looking at her, searching for something. Judging by his small frown, he couldn't have been too pleased by what he found. His hand slowly came up to cup her cheek, turning her completely towards him again.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly, but not gently. This wasn't a rote question to someone on their deathbed; it was the genuinely interested and concerned inquiry of someone who really wanted an answer. He didn't pity her at all, she realised.

"_Then I'm sorry."_

_He knew. He knew it wasn't permanent. _

There were no platitudes or pitying looks from him, because he had already offered his condolences!

"You knew." It was not so much a question as a statement of fact.

John just nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Rogue noticed that his hand hadn't moved either. His thumb was absently stroking her cheek as if he was erasing the invisible trails of salt left by her tears. His touch seemed to chase away the cold in more than just her face; the heat from his skin was slowly spreading down her neck, down her throat, like hot cocoa.

"You should…" she started, regretfully reaching up to remove his hand. "We don't know how long until…"

She was interrupted by a finger against her lips, the heat of that one touch all but welding them together. "I know," he said. "And I don't care."

"How can you say that, John?" she exclaimed. "I could kill you!"

"Sure seemed like you wanted to, earlier," he retorted, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. He removed his hand from her face and let it fall to his side, where he forcibly prevented it from forming a fist.

Rogue lowered her head a little, remembering her harsh words in the Med-Lab. He had been trying to be nice, and she'd completely blown up in his face.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," she said, pressing her lips together. "I just assumed…"

"And I assumed you had taken the cure because of him," he said with an audible exhalation. "I guess we're both allowed one fuck up. I remember what I said to Bobby at the cure centre, but I can't remember why. It's like every single emotion I had during that period has been… I don't know… erased or something."

John raised his eyes to the ceiling and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, wincing in pain as he brushed against the bruise on his forehead.

"Look, I just wanted to see how you were holding up. I didn't come here to start a fight or anything. I was cold and I couldn't sleep, so I thought… I wanted to make sure that we're okay – or as okay as we can be at this point. That's all," he rambled.

Looking at her nervously, he added: "So are we? Okay, I mean?"

Rogue was now feeling the absence of body heat. The cold in the mansion seemed to slam into her with a vengeance, punishing her for ignoring it while she was thinking. The shock and anxiety also returned to her then and she shivered visibly.

She was cold, she was tired and she didn't want to fight either. An almost desperate need to diffuse the almost painful tension between them made her give him a blank look and say: "I don't know about you, but I am _not_ cool at this point."

At his quickly masked look of hurt, she gave him an unreadable smile and continued: "I'd say, I was _freezin'_ and, since you owe me one as I see it, you've just volunteered to be a living hot water bottle tonight, mister!" She was only half joking.

Pyro's grin was almost blinding, for its rarity. They both seemed to recall video marathons in the rec- room and Rogue stuffing her feet under his legs for warmth. For all his bitching and moaning, John had never seemed to mind, and one time he had even put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him while complaining that her shivering was making the couch vibrate like a cheap one-quarter motel bed.

She remembered thinking that she was quite lucky: she might have to wear a certain amount of clothes at all times, but at least she had both a living AC unit and a walking radiator at her beck and call.

"Yeah, I guess I do owe you one," he mused. He continued in his typical 'woe is me' tone. "I guess this'll mean a return of 'the Amazing Vibrator Bed', huh?"

At her self satisfied smirk he held out his arm with a flourish in the direction of her room. "Lead the way, then."

She was about to, but then a thought occurred to her. "What about the teachers? Won't Beast and Storm be pissed? I mean, you are supposed to be in bed, and the dorms aren't exactly co-ed."

John seemingly considered her words for a moment before giving a nonchalant shrug and waving his hand dismissively. "Pft! Fuck 'em."

His answer made her laugh in relief; it was so like the John she remembered. The irreverence and 'devil may care' attitude was a complete one-eighty from the intense, mercurial young man she had seen in the Med-Lab.

His eyes practically sparkled in mischief as he put an arm around her shoulder and they started walking.

"Besides," he told her in a conspiratorial tone, "I'm not quite stable, you know, and can't really be held accountable for my actions at the moment."

Her muffled laughter accompanied them into her room, where, with much jostling and an occasional "Fuck, Rogue! Injured man here!" they made themselves comfortable on the bed.

Given her near-dream experience the night before, she wasn't surprised when they ended up with her lying on her side, John behind her with one arm over her waist and one under her head. His breath against her neck and the warmth of his skin against her arm and cheek made her feel safe and sleepy.

The soothing sound of rain against the windows was a fitting backdrop to a scene so like her dream, it was almost uncanny. The similarity made her think; there were so many questions she wanted to ask - one in particular.

He was playing with her hair, twirling it between his fingers as she asked: "John?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you know my name? I don't think I ever told you?"

The movement of his fingers never stopped - didn't even pause and she could almost feel his smile against her shoulder as he responded.

"A little birdie told me."

**TBC**

**A/N: **Whee! Go me! Angst _and_ fluff (finally). I was getting annoyed at _myself_ for the lack of interaction. This chapter almost wrote itself, and I am immensely pleased with it. I hope you feel the same. I wasn't sure I could do this kind of thing, what with the touches and the looks and the caring stuff, but I guess I could. I owe it all to epic rock, and especially to Within Temptation's lovely song: 'Bittersweet'.

Please take the time to drop me a line! (Or two, or fourteen, whatever's good for you.)

Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa - **Chapter 10: It's A New Dawn, It's A New Day**.


	10. It's a New Dawn, It's a New Day

**Disclaimer**: See chapter one.

**A/N**: I would apologise for the delay, but naah… I've spoilt you guys enough already.

'Thank You's and fiery cuddles go out to all my super cool reviewers! You make my days brighter and my mind work!

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 10: It's a New dawn, It's a New Day**

September 8th

7.46 AM

**Corridor Beneath Xavier's School for gifted Youngsters**

It was a very groggy and yawning Beast who made his way to the Med-lab that morning.

A full night of sleep had done wonders for his mind and his ability to process thought. This morning he was almost looking forward to cracking the ridiculously hard scientific nut that was Pyro.

Sipping a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and holding a tray with bland cereal and milk for the malnutritioned boy in his other, Hank slowly picked his way along the underground corridor.

He was preparing himself for dealing with the usual less-than-sunny disposition of the young man in his care, preparing soothing words or, as an alternative, authorative barks and orders; he didn't quite know what (or who) to expect, after all.

_I hope a good night's sleep has helped clear his head as well. Maybe I can actually get him to answer some questions today,_ he mused.

The boy had looked exhausted the night before as he had said goodnight to him down here. In fact, John had seemed so tired, Beast didn't have the slightest doubt that he would still be sleeping.

That was why Hank had left him in the first place, leaving only a monitor to watch over him.

The monitor was a sophisticated piece of medical equipment that could only be turned of with a verified Med-lab password.

It would have alerted him immediately if Pyro tried to leave the bed, so there was no way, what he was seeing could be possible…

The door to the lab was open, the bed empty, and the monitor sitting idle and inactive in its bracket.

Hank dropped the tray and hurried into the room, desperately looking around. In his near-panic state he even went as far as to look under the gurney like bed for any sign of his young charge, before he caught himself and shook his head at his illogical action.

Gathering his mental faculties, Beast tried to look reasonably at the situation. Had the monitor malfunctioned?

He went over to the bracket and viewed the monitor with a critical eye. The display was still turned on, a piece of text scrolling over the surface. That in it self was not unusual, as the screen should continually show the vital statistics of the subject it was monitoring.

The text, however, was highly irregular.

'_Went for a walk. Be back later. Chill, Fuzzy,'_ repeated itself over and over again in small red letters.

Hank spent a good two minutes staring in disbelief at the short message.

"Of all the… that infuriating little…how did he?" Beast sputtered.

The doctor fumbled for his communicator, finally producing it from the pocket of his lab coat with a triumphant: "A-ha!"

He was certain that Pyro had not left the grounds as the security system was absolutely top of the line, but a terrorist, an unstable terrorist at that, loose in a school did not bode well.

"Logan. Storm. Do you read me?" he said. "Come in, please."

"Whatissit?" came the muffled reply from the resident surly Canadian followed shortly by a cool "yes Hank?" from Storm.

"You might want to come down to the Med-lab immediately," Hank all but panted. "It would seem our guest has decided to 'go for a walk' without supervision."

"He WHAT?!?"

"Oh, dear…"

"Yes. I just entered the lab, and I assure you that it's quite empty. He did leave a message, though."

"Wait a moment there, Bub. You're saying that Pyro left on his own, escaped into the school, and he left you a damned NOTE?"

"Essentially, yes. That's exactly what he did," Beast replied ruefully.

Suddenly the absurdity of the situation caught up with him, and he released a wry chuckle.

"I fail to see the humour inherent in the situation, Hank," came the somewhat harried voice of Storm. "Would you care to include us in the cause of you amusement?"

"I am terribly sorry, Ororo, dear," he apologised, reining in his laughter. "Judging from the wording of his message, I believe we're dealing with John the rebellious teenager, rather than Pyro the terrorist. I do not think the school is in any immediate danger, but never the less, we best locate the young man before the students wake up."

"I agree, Hank. I will go to the monitor room and look for him immediately," Storm said. Her relatively calm tones were overlapped by Logan's growling: "I'm on it. Damn that kid! I'll kill him," followed by the whine of a hung up communicator.

Hank swallowed. "Logan? Logan?" looking at the com unit in his hand, he calmly stated: "Drat."

**Girls' Dormitories, Rogue's room.**

The first tentative rays of morning sun crept through the thick curtains and made their way across the bed, softly touching her face.

Rogue screwed her eyes shut and delved deeper into the warmth of the bed. She hadn't slept this well in ages and she absolutely did not want to wake up yet.

She had gone to sleep in the arms of her best friend, secure in the knowledge that she was safe from all harm. Her dreams had been of power and flames, leaving her elated.

Through her nightly dreams had floated a soft lullaby in strange unfamiliar tones, almost hummed in a strange mix of female and male voices. The unintelligible words had painted pictures in her mind, seemingly formed from flames. A story of creation - of a world of strange spirits and great tracts of land caressed by her, and she was the sun.

She had felt herself warming the earth with her fire, and the land below her had sighed in gratitude. She had been flying and her heartbeat had been matched with the steady thumping of tribal drums…

Along with the wonder and remembrance came consciousness. Her eyes blinked open, languidly, and immediately locked with wide awake hazel orbs.

"Morning, Rogue."

"Mmm… Mornin,' John. What are ya doin' up so early?" she mumbled, running her hands through her hair, catching on several tangles, making her scowl at the inconvenience of long hair.

Her friend was sitting leaned against the foot of the bed, fiddling with the bandages around his wrists. He looked utterly relaxed and comfortable in his own skin.

He gave a small chuckle at her grimace. Her nose was scrunched up and it made her look like a disgruntled kitten.

"I always rise with the sun. I guess it calls to the fire part of me, y'know?" he said with a shrug. "Kinda like a 'come out and play with me'…"

Rogue pushed herself up and sat against the headboard facing him. Cocking her head to one side she watched him idly picking at the gauze. He looked right back at her, not the slightest bit uncomfortable with her intense scrutiny.

"You seem calmer than yesterday," she noted. "How are ya feeling?"

"Itchy, I guess. My wrists are killin' me. Goddamned cold sores are taking forever to go away. Other than that, I'm peachy," he replied.

He scooted lower on the bed, and under the covers. "Been forever since I've slept in a real bed," he continued. "If I never go camping again, it'll be a day too soon. Those self inflating sleeping mats are a bitch. For all Magneto's talk about making a better world for mutants, he sure was hell bent on making us as uncomfortable as possible."

Rogue patted his foot with a fake look of sympathy. "Oh you poor baby," she cooed. "Bet the big bad terrorist didn't feed you properly, either," she continued, eyeing his thin frame.

John had been slender when he was at school, sure, but while he was gone, he had definitely crossed over into 'starved-looking' territory.

Her attempt at levity earned her a snort.

"Of course not. We lived in a damned pine forest for months. Nothing there but squirrels and 'cones, never mind fast food. It was hell… I think. It's still kinda blurry."

"You still don't remember why you left?" she asked.

The relaxed smile evaporated from his face, like dew in the morning sun.

"I already told you, Rogue," he said, frustrated. "No, I do not remember, alright? Can't you just leave well enough alone?"

He irritably shook his head as if to clear it and swung his feet to the floor. The moment they made contact he drew them back with a hiss.

"Fuck! The damned floor is freezing!" This infraction seemed to be the final straw.

Throwing his hands up in the air, John almost yelled: "I mean, what the hell is going on here anyway, with the blue furry guys, and the looks and the weird vibes and now this shit?" He scowled at the floor, hard enough to kill it, had it been alive. He looked genuinely angry.

The carpet had started to smoke.

Rogue felt a flash of apprehension. Angry John equalled Pyro, which was so not good! She had a brief flashback to a certain front yard and burning cars.

"John? Uh… would you mind calming..."

He turned burning eyes to her, his stare boring into her; he seemed to have forgotten her presence for a second.

"…down," she finished in a small voice.

This was the scene Logan viewed as he burst through the door after having followed Pyro's scent to Rogue's room.

He had caught it at the staircase that led up from the basement; the combination of sulphur, smoke and cinnamon that belonged to the boy, mixed with something…else.

The 'something else' he had only smelled a few times before: a shimmer of Frankincense and rage, which had him pelting up the stairs, disbelieving, but expecting the very worst.

_Please no! Anything but that…_

He crashed through the door, only to see Pyro staring at a huddling Rogue with apparent anger on his face. The room smelled of burned fabric, fear and rage. Neither teen were fully dressed and Rogue had the quilt pulled up to her chin. Instantly he feared the worst.

At the loud noise, Rogue's head whipped around to look at him with wide frightened eyes. "Logan. It's not what…"

"Back of, right now," he growled at Pyro, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't' you dare touch her, you little punk!" His claws were out and he didn't even remember extracting them.

Pyro's shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice and his head tilted slightly to one side. With one sinewy, dancer-like movement he swung his legs out of the bed and stood to face the raging Logan head on, completely ignoring Rogue.

A small teasing smile played about his lips; so not at home on John's face, but still striking a painful cord in Wolverine's heart.

"Logan, you're making me blush," the boy whispered.

The voice was different, but the tone was the same; exactly the same.

Logan closed his eyes in grief. "No…"

_Not again… I can't do this again! Is she really back? But I killed her, she died in my arms. Jean…_

Lost in his sorrow and conflicting thoughts he didn't hear Pyro move.

A warm hand gently cupped his face, and his world blinked back into sharp focus. He stare was met by the warm caramel eyes of the one woman he had ever loved. The soft, caring look he received was so familiar, but the hand on his face was calloused and the scent was all wrong.

"Shh… it's alright," Pyro whispered.

Taking one of Logan's shaking fists in one hand; Pyro placed the adamantium claws over his own heart. The sharp metal instantly pierced the thin material of the white T-shirt, and met the slight resistance of flesh.

As blood slowly started to flow, brown bled back into hazel.

Rogue's gasped: "Logan, no!" went unnoticed by both males.

"You can kill me, Logan," Pyro said in a calm rational voice. "But you can't kill _it_ - _it_ is immortal. Jean couldn't deal, she didn't know how. How could she control something she didn't understand? It was killing her."

Once again, his eyes changed, and with them, the facial expression of the boy in front of him. A small grateful smile graced full lips. "You saved me, Logan."

Slowly, golden flames bled through the beautiful brown of the boy's (Jean's) eyes, eventually replacing it completely.

"**You had no choice. She couldn't handle me. She never lived with her rage; the blocks wouldn't let her. I would have torn her apart, eventually." **

The golden eyes flashed with unsuppressed rage.

"**She never blamed you for her weakness,"** the Phoenix hissed.

"**She never blamed _anyone_, but I do. I know there is only _one_ person responsible for her death, and it certainly isn't you! Do you think you could have killed her, if I hadn't let you?"**

The Phoenix let out a dark chuckle:** "No, Wolverine – you merely unlocked my prison, and by doing so, left me free to find someone who could carry me well, someone who understands me. And he's so strong…"** she sighed, closing her eyes.

The blond head lowered a fraction and hazel eyes watched in absent fascination as a few drops of very real, very red blood dripped to the floor. Pyro smiled.

"I know anger, Logan. I know rage, I know pain, and I _know_ fire. She doesn't rule me, and with time I will control her. Do you think anyone else could carry this inside them? Then go ahead. It will only move along to someone else."

Pyro let go of Logan's hand and leaned, just a little, against the claws. Logan's deep brown eyes met Pyro's unflinching ones and his hand was withdrawn, just a fraction.

"Come on, Wolverine. Make a move."

**TBC**

**A/N**: Here it is… the truth about John, or something like it. I hope that this chapter answered all your 'who's the little birdie' questions… Our boy's head is seriously overcrowded, huh?

Next chapter should have more tension and more exposition, along with the possible return of an old acquaintance. Care to guess who?

Please take the time to drop me a line, along with your suggestions and/or comments. After this chapter, I need some reassurance, and I'm sure poor Pyro does too!

Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa – **Chapter 11: Head Space**


	11. Head Space

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one

**A/N: **Yes yes, I know… horribly late update. But hey, my semester has started and time is more scarce than good looking guys at a middle-aged singles' party!

As usual, a huge thank you goes out to all the people who take the time to review. I love you, I really do!

I've been informed that the last chapter had some slashy overtones… I read through it again, and damn, it does. I didn't even notice… sorry. As I saw it, it wasn't even John, but Jean. I hope I haven't scared you off… It won't happen again, I promise!

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 11: Head Space**

Last time on 'Tabula Fucking Rasa:'

"_I know anger, Logan. I know rage, I know pain, and I know fire…"_

_Pyro let go of Logan's hand and leaned, just a little, against the claws. Logan's deep brown eyes met Pyro's unflinching ones and his hand was withdrawn, just a fraction._

"_Come on, Wolverine. Make a move."_

And now, the continuation:

The scent of blood filled the Wolverine's nostrils like sweet, sweet nectar. The part of him that was pure predator revelled in it. It wanted to dig its claws deeper into the soft flesh before it and hear the boy scream. It wanted to turn the being in front of him into a quivering mass of frightened meat, before finally snapping its neck or spilling the red fluid within it onto the floor.

The creature was smaller than the Wolverine, physically weaker and already injured. All these things screamed 'prey.' But there was something stopping him. There was something missing and that fact sent danger signals to his brain. There was a complete absence of that intoxicating fear-smell that should have gone along with the blood. Prey _should_ be afraid.

But the boy wasn't; in fact, he looked almost as eager for a fight as he himself was feeling at the moment.

_Not prey,_ the Wolverine snarled in his head. _Predator. Competition._

And not just any predator, but something that smelled like fire, he thought. Whatever it was, it wasn't afraid, and that made the Wolverine nervous. Maybe the flesh before him wasn't worth the fight? The animal in him decided 'not' and turned its attention away from the boy.

Logan sniffed the air.

There _was_ fear in the room, though. The girl, the weaker prey, was afraid, very afraid. The sweet smell seemed to roll of the girl in waves. Rogue. She was staring wide eyes at the two of them, continuously shaking her head 'no'. As he looked at her, she met his eyes.

"Logan, no…" she said, her voice small and faint.

_Logan…_

His attention tore completely away from the young man in front of him to centre on her.

_I'm scaring her. She afraid of me… she shouldn't be. Wrongwrong WRONG!_

"No," he mumbled, shaking his head.

With a metallic hiss the claws retracted into his knuckles and his hand dropped from Pyro's chest back to his side. Reigning himself in and caging the snarling beast in his head he blinked rapidly and frantically searched for something to say.

'No one is getting gutted today, so don't worry,' seemed a bit inappropriate, so instead he held his hands a bit out to the side in the typical 'look, I'm not armed' sign and backed away from the boy, who was now absently touching the tears in his T-shirt with trembling fingertips.

"Fuck, Logan. What the hell is your problem?" Pyro asked, but without any real malice or reproach. "Did you think I was gonna rape her or somethin'?"

At his words, Rogue looked at Logan in shock. "You thought that?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Logan, tell me ya didn't!"

Seeing as that was _exactly_ what he'd been thinking, Logan kept silent. He remembered the Phoenix' reaction in the infirmary, her actions, her taste…

His mind was frantically scrambling to catch up with events; instinct warring with sense.

A part of him, the predator, wanted blood _hurtriptearkill_, the soldier in him, almost forgotten but not quite, sensed a non friendly combatant standing not three feet away, and finally, the teacher, the caregiver reminded both the other parts that these were children _cubssmallhelpless_ and therefore his to protect.

"Is that it?" Rogue repeated.

At the lack of response from her first friend, Rogue got out of bed and angrily stalked over to the two males, situating herself firmly between Logan and John.

As she saw it, if Logan wanted another piece of John, he would have to go through her first and that was something Logan would chew his own arm of (adamantine skeleton and everything) before doing.

"That's it, isn't it?" she said, her fear turning to anger. "Logan!" she continued, outraged at his continued silence. "John would never hurt me. Ya know that. He would never harm a hair on my head."

"Oh yeah? Then why the hell did this room reek of fear when I got here?" he roared, eyeing Pyro with unbridled fury.

At first, Pyro met his eyes out of sheer principle and stubbornness, but as the (albeit small) logical part of his mind caught up and analysed the situation as it must have seemed to Wolverine, he kinda got the picture.

_Well damn…_

"I got confused," he admitted and looked down, acknowledging Logan's right to be angry. "I'm so sorry, Rogue. I didn't mean to scare you. It's just with everything that's been going on and that bitch in my head… she won't let me rest and catch up."

Pyro threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Everything is all fucked up. I can't think straight. Right now, she's having a hell of a good time showing me stuff I don't want to know, seeing if I'll break down cryin' or something. It's like she's testing me… I don't know," he trailed off.

_But I do_ Logan thought.

The Wolverine knew exactly what the Phoenix was doing. The pushing and prodding, the drive to constantly keep her vessel, _opponent, host, whatever_ on edge and weak was a very familiar tactic to him. Unknowingly or not, Pyro was at the moment locked in an Alpha fight with the entity in his head.

"She wants to establish dominance over you," he explained. Two pairs of eyes turned to him, Rogue's filled with questions and Pyro's with instant understanding.

"Oh, right. Of course," John said, shaking his head at his own obliviousness. "The old 'you're my ho', so bend over already' routine. I get it."

_Well, bring it on bitch. I'm good at this shit_.

"John… It's okay," Rogue whispered. Seeing her friend so upset made her forget her own fear and apprehension completely. He looked exhausted, she thought.

_It must be hell on him, being constantly on edge, not being able to control all that emotion and in pain at the same time. _

A sudden thought came to her and, putting her arms around him, unafraid, she smiled at him and said: "I know how you must feel."

At his disbelieving 'yeah right' look, she continued.

"No really, I do," she said. "A lot of people go through periods similar to this, although not this bad… usually," she amended.

"They do?" he asked, incredulous.

"Well yes," Rogue said with a small playing on her lips. "It's called PMS and there is only one cure: ignore the fucker and get some ice cream!"

With that statement, she grabbed him by the arm and started to tow him toward the door, headed for the kitchens.

"We can just make it, before people wake up, if we hurry," she enthused.

"Umm, Rogue?" John said. "I would love some ice cream – been a while, and all that, but my head is killin' me and so are these."

He gestured to the puncture wounds on his chest which were oozing blood down his shirt.

Rogue's face fell. "God, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't think." She let go of his arm. "You should go to the infirmary and get those looked at."

"Hey, maybe you could get the goods and bring them down there?" he asked, a hopeful expression on his face. "I always wanted to try breakfast in bed," he continued.

"Sure. That's doable. You just go down there and I'll be right with you," she said.

Rogue was leery of being away from him for some reason. In the year or so that she'd known him, he'd never let her or anyone else care for him. When he was sick, he locked himself in his room and became, if possible, even more stand offish. When he was hurt, he ignored any discomfort and focused his entire being into appearing as though he didn't feel a thing. Here was a golden opportunity, as she saw it, for some long overdue mother-henning.

Adopting her most pronounced Southern Belle accent she batted her lashes at him and said: "Would ya like some Java and a croissant with that, Mr. Allerdyce."

_Is she flirting with me?_

"Uhh… that'd be great, Rogue! You're a sweetheart," he smiled. "I'd better get goin'. Beast is probably beside himself by now," he added with a self satisfied smirk.

"Yes, about that," Logan started in a gruff voice, having regained his precious equilibrium. "Don't ever pull a stunt like that again, Firefly, or I will have your _ass_ come next Danger Room session!"

He was answered by Pyro's trademarked annoying smirk and an arrogant: "I'd _love_ to see you try, Wolfie."

_Yes. Pyro is definitely back. Ahh... the many-splendoured wonder that is John Allerdyce. It was getting boring around here anyway._

Seeing many headaches and frustrations in his near future he growled: "Don't push me, ya punk," and gave Pyro a small shove towards the door. "Get a move on, Allerdyce. We wouldn't want your 'womanly affliction' spreading to the other females on the floor, now would we?" he asked gruffly, inwardly chuckling at the annoyed look on the boy's face.

"Yeah yeah… hang on a minute already."

Pyro expertly circumvented Logan and made his way back into the room, where he stopped in front of Rogue, took her hand and seemed to take a moment to make up his mind about something.

Finally he seemed to reach a conclusion, and with a 'fuck it' shrug he planted a kiss on her cheek. "You really are a sweetheart. You know that, right?" he whispered to her.

Rogue was taken aback.

_He kissed me… He actually kissed me. What the?_

Seeing her speechless for the first time ever (that he could remember anyway) John smiled. "You let me know, when you have an answer for that, 'kay?" he teased her. "I missed you, babe."

Rogue tried to find something, anything, to say, but her mind was completely and comfortably numb. In the end she settled for a nod, a smile and a light squeeze of his hand.

At Wolverine's _very_ subtle throat clearing, the two teens broke eye contact and John returned to the doorway.

"Are you _quite_ done?" Logan grunted, clearly uncomfortable.

"Yes _sir_! Ready to move out, sir!" Pyro said firmly, sharply saluting the scowling Wolverine and winking at Rogue.

"Oh, shut up…" Logan grumbled.

The two males made their way out of the room, accompanied by Pyro's almost (but not quite) playfully outraged: "And, Dude, I'm _not_ a chick!"

Rogue watched them go with a small smile. Scary as the thought of the Phoenix entity was, it was a huge relief to finally know what was going on.

Even if he was changed, John was back with her, and felt like a crucial piece of the puzzle that was her life had clicked back into place.

Once again, the cold that permeated the Mansion didn't touch her as the heat of his small touch grew and spread, warming her body to the core like the remnants of a pleasant day spent in the sun.

_I missed you too, John. I think I always have…_

**TBC**

**A/N:** So? What d'ya think? A bit of flirty fluff at the end, just to tide you over, until I can pull myself together and actually write romance. I'm getting there… I really am.

I know I said that there might be a return of another character, but I'll hold that off a bit. He/she didn't want to play yet.

Please please please take the time to review! Each one will be answered, and if you review anonymously and want to hear from me then just leave your email address. It will mean ever so much to me to hear from you (all of you). Even if you don't like the story, I'd like to know why.

**A/N2:** I'm contemplating a slash fic, to blow off some steam. It will be Bobby/John, and I'm curious as to whether or not people would read it? What do you say?

Next time on Tabula Fucking Rasa – **Chapter 12: And I Feel Fine**


	12. And I Feel Fine

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 12: And I Feel Fine**

Last time on Tabula Fucking Rasa:

_**Pyro threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Everything is all fucked up. I can't think straight. Right now, she's having a hell of a good time showing me stuff I don't want to know, seeing if I'll break down cryin' or something. It's like she's testing me… I don't know," he trailed off.**_

**But I do _Logan thought._**

**"_She wants to establish dominance over you," he explained._**

**Well, bring it on bitch. I'm good at this shit.**

**…"_ignore the fucker and get some ice cream!"_**

_**Adopting her most pronounced Southern Belle accent she batted her lashes at him and said: "Would ya like some Java and a croissant with that, Mr. Allerdyce." **_

**Is she flirting with me?**

_**Finally he seemed to reach a conclusion, and with a 'fuck it' shrug he planted a kiss on her cheek.**_

**"_I missed you, babe."_**

**I missed you too, John. I think I always have…**

And now, the continuation:

September 8th

8.15 AM

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, downstairs kitchen.

The kitchen was quiet. The whirring of the refrigerator and the sad, half-hearted attempts at birdsong from the willow outside the window were the only sounds to break the silence. Bobby Drake had gotten up early - real early, for once.

The excitement and drama of the night before had left him with a multitude of thoughts and emotions that simply wouldn't leave him alone before they had been properly processed. So, of course, a good night's sleep had been out of the question.

He sat at the island-like table on one of the tall stools and slowly sipped a glass of iced tea, yawning every once in a while. For some reason, his eyes kept returning to the refrigerator door, where he thought he could still see the imprints of Logan's claws from That Night - the night everything had changed.

Even though the door had been replaced along with most of the interior, an ambience of violence and fear still lingered in the room. It seemed that the house wouldn't forget easily the death that had occured within its walls.

Noting that the ice cubes in his glass had melted, he absently refroze them and took another sip. Only a few years ago, he wouldn't have, for obvious reaons.

_Things change..._

His life had certainly become ripe with change ever since he came here.

At home he had been one of the popular boys. At school, he was on the team, moved in the right circles, he'd had the right friends. Except… they hadn't been his _friends_, not really. How could you have friends who didn't know the real you?

He'd spent months being terrified of anyone finding out; of his _parents_ finding out. He hadn't had the faintest idea about what was wrong with him. Why did it get really cold when he was angry? Why would he wake up in a bed covered by a thin layer of frost after having strange dreams of whirling masses of snow? What was wrong with him?

In the end he'd been a nervous wreck, haunted by nightmares and afraid of getting close to anyone. He'd accepted the Professor's offer to come to the Institute in the hopes that he could make it all go away. He'd been so hopeful. One or two semesters at this 'Mutant High' and then he would be able to go home and be normal again.

Looking into the glas of golden liquid and swirling the cubes around a bit, a bitter smile appeared on his face.

_I guess this is 'normal' now._

He'd feared being viewed as a freak, and that was exactly what had happened. Not even his family had been able to accept him...

To be perfectly honest, acceptance, let alone pride in his abilities had never entered _his_ mind either, at least not until he met his new roommate.

Bobby shook his head and his smile turned genuinely amused, remembering his first day at the school and his first meeting with one St John Allerdyce.

Bobby snorted to himself.

If John was difficult at age eighteen, he had been _hell_ at fifteen.

_**Sixteen year old Bobby Drake was clutching his duffel bag like a life line as he made his way along the corridors of his new home, following a white haired lady, who was apparently called 'Storm'. She was leading him to his new room in the boys' dormitories. He'd never stayed at a dorm before. Heck, he'd never had to share a room before.**_

**_Storm was telling him about the rules of the place: "No powers in the hallways or during classes. No discrimination is allowed, no food during class, no smoking in your rooms, and please remember to…"_**

**_He hadn't really been paying attention at the time– something had been itching in his mind since they had gone up the stairs, and it was getting progressively stronger the further down the corridor they went. He felt uncomfortable…_**

**_There was something in the air a familar smell… he felt his hands getting colder. He discreetly breathed in, trying to place the odour at the same time as Storm paused in her speech and said "Not again… That boy!"_**

**Fire… it smells like fire! _His instincts had screamed at him._**

**_As they both paused in the corridor and Storm stopped talking, loud voices could clearly be heard from the room farthest down the hall._**

**_A stern, male voice seemed to be plowing along a well rehearsed diatribe._**

"_**John, you've been told again and again. You are not to use powers in the rooms without supervision! Look at this mess. It's coming out of your allowance and furthermore…"**_

"**_Oh, grow a sense of humour, Summers," a younger voice drawled, seemingly quite unimpressed with the sheer volume of the first speaker._**

"_**Humour? Humour?!? You burned the curtains! The entire school could have caught fire!"**_

"_**Chill, man. It was under control, and, besides, those curtains were fugly!"**_

_**"That is completely beside the point… you're GROUNDED!" the first speaker thundered. **_

"_**Yeah, whatever, man."**_

"_**For a month!"**_

"**_Oh come _on!"**

"**_And you're doing detention: extra training with me two times a week."_**

"_**But…"**_

"**_But nothing. Your new room mate will be here anytime now, and this is the welcome you're gonna offer him?"_**

**_The first voice had turned from anger to exasperation._**

**_"John, you've been here longer than any of the other kids. You of all people should now better than playing around with fire like that. Now put it out and clean up this mess."_**

_**Bobby had looked at Storm in abject terror. Surely he was not expected to share a room with an obviously psychotic pyromaniac?**_

**_Storm had just shaken her head and with a firm hand on his shoulder she had pulled the boy behind her into the room, which was sweltering and smelly. The stench of burned fabric would stay with him for quite some time, he was sure._**

**_Inside stood a tall, lean man with arms crossed and a scowl on his face. At least, Bobby thought he might be scowling. He wasn't sure, seeing as the guy was wearing sunglasses, red ones at that._**

**_The object of his ire seemed to be a smallish, brown haired boy about Bobby's age, who was sitting on a bed, idly flicking a Zippo lighter opened and closed. The boy was returning the man's fierce scowl with an indifferent look of his own, one eyebrow raised and hazel eyes pleasantly blank._**

_**Storm cleared her throat, and the guy with sunglasses turned around to look at her.**_

"_**Storm, I didn't hear you come in…" he said.**_

"**_Apparently not," she replied in a calm voice. Stepping aside so Bobby became clearly visible to the room's inhabitants, she continued. "This is Bobby Drake, the new student. Bobby this is Scott Summers, or Cyclops, and St John Allerdyce."_**

"**_John. My name is JOHN, woman!" was the only comment offered sullenly by the teen who hadn't even moved to get off the bed._**

**_Bobby shook hands with the tall guy, Cyclops, and settled for nodding his head in John's general direction. No way was he getting anywhere near that guy. No sir._**

"_**Can I talk with you for a moment, Scott? Let's leave the boys to get acquainted, shall we?"**_

_**Both adults ignored Bobby's terrified look and filed out of the room, closing the door behind them.**_

**_The instant the 'click' of the door had sounded, the boy, uhh 'John', dropped the disdainful look and sat up straight, eyeing Bobby with interest._**

"_**So… what are ya in for?" he asked.**_

"_**In for?" Bobby repeated.**_

**_What _was_ this place? _**

"**_Yeah. What's your damage, huh? What can you 'do'? I mean, you must be something else, if they placed you here… usually they keep people away from me." John seemed almost proud of that fact. _**

"_**I uhh… I can sorta make ice," Bobby said hesitantly, waiting for the dreaded alarm or fear to show up on the other boy's face. What he got was something quite different.**_

"**_Ice, huh? Well I there had to be _some_ reason I could feel ya coming down the hallway. Guess I don't have to be afraid to barbecue you in your sleep then. That's cool."_**

"_**It is? I mean… what do you mean 'barbecue me'?"**_

_**John raised his eyebrows in exasperation. **_

"_**They didn't tell you, did they?"**_

"_**Tell me what?" he asked. **_

"**_I'm pyrokinetic."_**

"_**You are? So you like burning… stuff?" Oh god, they were actually putting him in a room with a maniac.**_

"**_No, man. Pyro-_kinetic. _Look I'll show ya." _**

_**John got off the bed and clicked his lighter open with a complicated flourish that seemed less rehearsed and more instinctual.**_

"**_Uhh… no man, that's alright. You don't have to…" Bobby said hurriedly, a small twinge of apprehension going through him._**

"_**Don't worry about it, man. No trouble at all."**_

**_The brown haired boy flicked the lighter, a small flame appeared and with a graceful movement of his hand it rose to hover between the boys, completely independent of the lighter and any source of fuel._**

_**Despite himself, Bobby felt a simmer of excitement at the sight. **_

**_John continued to manipulate the fire, his hands' movements not really hampered by holding on to the Zippo with two fingers. _**

**_The flame began to take the shape of a small bird that started flitting about the room, wings flapping and perfectly mimicking the real deal._**

"_**Cool… But how do you do that?" he asked. "Doesn't fire need fuel?"**_

**_John called back the bird to hover over his shoulder and said: "Not really, but Fire doesn't _know_ that. It's not a big deal, really. I just have to tell it to fuck fuel. Fire _wants_ to burn, man…" _**

_**Before their conversation could go any further, the door slammed open again to reveal a very angry Scott Summers.**_

"_**Pyro! I told you to stop messing around! Put that out right now."**_

"_**God, Summers! You're such a wet blanket," John exclaimed, and reluctantly moved the bird to his hand and started to close his fist.**_

**_At that time, Storm's voice sounded outside the room, reminding Cyclops to make sure that Bobby knew what time dinner was served. Scott turned away from the boys to face her, and missed the bird blinking into the shape of a whole other kind of 'birdie' of the one-fingered variety just before John's hand closed completely._**

**_When Cyclops' eyes returned to the room, he saw one smugly smiling John Allerdyce and one Bobby Drake, who was trying in vain to hide a grin._**

**_It was only two days later, when Scott Summers turned up at Pyro's detention fifteen minutes late due to his shoes having been mysteriously filled with wet, icy sludge._**

_Ahh… good times,_ Bobby thought to himself, smiling into his glass.

John and he had quickly become inseparable. Pyro had taught him to be proud of his powers, constantly encouraging him to use them, to push the envelope. And he had reminded John of how to laugh.

And now John was back. His best friend, his partner in crime was back and Bobby would be damned if he let him leave again.

_I need to talk to him. I need to find out why he left. Was it me? No matter what it was, it won't happen again! _He promised himself.

He got up from the chair and went over to sink to wash the glass. He was so deeply buried in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice her until they almost collided.

"Rogue! Jeez… You almost gave me a heart attack. What's the rush?" he said, exhaling the startled breath he'd been holding.

The girl in question was holding a hand to her chest in obvious shock – a gloved hand, he noticed.

It had been a while since he'd seen her wear gloves and she must have caught his overly long glance at the garments in question, because she quickly lowered her hand again and smiled.

"Ice cream run," she explained.

"At this time of the day?" he asked incredulous.

"Yeah, I promised John ice cream in bed. Gotta fatten him up, before he disappears into thin air, you know?" she said in a low voice.

She looked down, abashedly, and pushed a strand of white hair behind her ear. The early morning sun highlighted her hair and made the auburn shine.

Bobby remembered one very late night, talking with John about her. It was before they had gotten together; Bobby had been in love and shy as hell, and John had suggested that he write her love poetry 'in the tradition of upper-class twits through the ages'.

"**_But what the hell would I write? I'm not Coleridge or Byron y'know…" he had protested._**

"**_Oh I don't know…" John had said, gesturing grandly with a nearly burned out cigarette. "How about: 'Oh untouchable/ Would that I were a ray of morning's first fire / to caress thy hair with gentle fingers / bringing about the gleam of burnished bronze, silver lin'd / like distant clouds, illuminated by sudden gleams / would that I could bring about lightning in thine eyes' or something."_**

_**Bobby had laughed at him, a bit embarrassed (as most teenage boys were when faced with Romantic poetry).**_

"_**Trust you to bring fire into it," he had chuckled.**_

**_At that, Pyro had shrugged and said: "Or you could just go with: 'Roses are red, we live in a school / you're kinda hot, but baby, I'm cool.' Yeah, that would probably be more up your alley…"_**

Rogue was searching through the freezer. Coming up with a tub of 'Cookie Dough' ice cream, she opened only to let out an exasperated sigh.

"The damn thing's all melted! I guess the power didn't come back on properly yesterday…."

"Huh?" Bobby snapped out of his recollections and looked over at his ex girlfriend. She was looking mournfully at a nearly full tub of ice cream, or more precisely 'sludge-cream'.

"Ah, don't worry about it, give it to me," he said, holding out his hand.

She placed the half thawed ice cream in his hand with a grateful smile. Bobby focused cold into the container, taking care to bring it to the perfect consistency: kind of slushy, the way he remembered John preferred it.

He absolutely agreed with her mission to 'fatten him up.' His friend looked like something out of a documentary on famine.

"Here you go," he said, passing the now cold tub back to her. "Would you mind telling John that I'll be down later?" he asked.

"Sure," Rogue answered as she turned to get spoons from the drawer behind her. "But, Bobby, why don't you just come down there with me? I'm sure there's enough for three," she tempted, waving the carton in front of him.

"You sure? He wouldn't mind? I wouldn't want to crowd him or anything."

"Yeah, I'm sure" she reassured him. "John was mentioning something about going 'absolutely ape-shit in that boring-ass Hellhole' or something," she continued with the proper finger-quotation marks. "We could bring him some actual food as well, that is, unless you've already eaten?"

"Nah, I only got a glass of tea. Breakfast sounds like a great idea!" he said enthusiastically.

Working in perfect tandem, they put together a tray of food and drinks to bring to the infirmary. In less than ten minutes they were armed and ready to commence with Operation 'Fatten Up the Pyrokinetic' as it were.

**TBC**

**A/N: **So… a bit of useless filling between angsty chapters, to give you guys a breather. As you can probably tell, I don't really like Cyclops all that much, and I see him as a real stickler for regulations.

I wanted to give you guys a feel for the friendship shared by Bobby and John and some more Rogue/Bobby interaction.

I hope you like the poetry bit. I just did a semester on Romanticism, and I absolutely LOVED it! (And yes... it's original)

Hopefully we should see the reintroduction of Pyro to the school proper in the next few chapters.

I'm going with an instinctual awareness of fire/ice, heat/cold in the two elemental mutants, and I hope you're all aboard with that idea…

Please take the time to review and tell me your opinions and suggestions! I love hearing from you! (Preferably at length…)

Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa – **Chapter 13: Come Full Circle**


	13. Come Full Circle

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one

**A/N: **Brace yerselves, mateys! There be choppy emotional waters ahead, yarrrr…

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 13: Come Full Circle**

**Corridor outside the Girl's Dormitories**

8.14 AM

As the two males made their way from Rogue's room and down the corridor towards the back stairway, Logan eyed Pyro from the corner of his eyes. The teen was shivering and seemed mightily annoyed by the chill in the air. He was blowing on his hands and rubbing his wrists, looking like someone caught outside on a winter's day without gloves.

To Logan's heat sensitive vision the boy didn't look chilled at first. His heat patterns were compliant with ordinary human temperature.

_What the hell is his problem? Oh yeah… heightened core temperature, right._ He remembered.

The hallway was darkened, since the power short had burst all the light bulbs in the mansion. None of the bedroom doors were opened and the curtains were drawn over the great bay windows at either end of the corridor, so no light shone through to the interior and even if Logan could see quite clearly, Pyro obviously couldn't.

The teen was feeling his way along the wall grumbling to himself. Finally, with a "fuck this" he stopped and held out his hand. A small ball of fire materialised, seemingly drawn from thin air to coalesce above his palm like a small galaxy of light. Pyro held the fire for a while, staring into the flame with a look of utter peace.

"Uhh… Do you need a sweater or somethin', kid?" Wolverine asked, realising that thin pyjamas might not be the best attire for traversing the freezing mansion.

John looked at Logan. "No thanks, man," he said with a small smile. "I've got it - I just forgot I could… give me a moment."

The boy closed his eyes and the ball of fire left his hand to hover in the air between them. Logan noticed that Pyro was pressing the thumb and index fingers of his right hand together slightly, as if he was holding something between them.

_His lighter_ he realised.

Pyro drew a deep breath and, as he let it out, a wave of heat spread from his thin frame to fill the darkened hallway. As it hit Logan a small whisper of sound reached his ears. A female chuckle.

… _so powerful…_

"That's quite an upgrade ya got there, kid," he said, desperate to reassure himself that this was Pyro and not… someone else.

"I think I've always been able to do this," John said, continuing hesitantly. "I just… didn't remember. He wouldn't let me."

"He?" Logan asked, lifting an eyebrow. What was the kid on about?

"The Professor," Pyro sneered, a look of disgust on his face. "He held it back from me, all of it: my past, my powers, my life! He was afraid of what I'd become; like he was afraid of her."

"Jean."

"Yeah. He couldn't control her power, so he was convinced she couldn't either. He blocked both of us. _It_ knew, the Phoenix. It told me at Magneto's camp. It said that we were alike."

John smiled. "Quite the compliment, huh? Coming from a Class Five."

"I… guess," Logan said. "Was he right?"

Seeing John's eyes fill with anger and the small ball of fire flare, he continued hurriedly: "I'm not saying that he was. I'm asking you. Can you control it?"

One elegant eyebrow rose in a sort of wry amusement, and suddenly the boy looked a hell of a lot like Magneto.

"Can you, Logan? Can any of us? Think about it," he said.

With that rather ominous question, Pyro turned and continued down the corridor, the circle of heat following him, the fireball leading the way.

They walked a while in silence, Logan preoccupied with his thoughts.

_Can I control it? The animal, the urges, are they in control or am I?_

"**_He's tamed you!"_** The Phoenix hissing voice filled his mind with implications. Had he? Had the Professor tied him down too?

Logan was so busy pondering the frightening possibility of his mind not being his own that he didn't notice Pyro pause in front of a painting on the wall and, with a small smirk, locking eyes with those of a pretty young woman. Neither did he notice the smell of melted oil paint and burned canvas that filled the hallway for a moment. He did however hear the boy mutter something under his breath.

"Bitch."

"What was that?" he asked.

Pyro caught up with him, a 'butter-wouldn't melt on my tongue' look on his face.

"Oh, nothin'" he said entirely too innocently.

"Riiight…" Logan muttered. Trying to figure out what he'd missed he sniffed the air, making no attempt to hide it. He was under no illusion that Pyro wasn't aware of his distrust.

The powerful olfactory senses of the Wolverine quickly catalogued the various scents in the air: stale carpets, dust, cleaning agent, sweat, dried up Coke, the kid (fire and cinnamon… no blood… that was odd), the Phoenix (frankincense), and Jean (Roses and warm skin). Overlaying it all was the smell of melted paint.

"You break, you buy, kid," he growled. Logan looked down the hallway, seeing a slightly charred outline on one wall, but no sign of any painting ever having been there.

_Huh…_

John nodded with a 'yeah right' look on his face. "Yes of course, do you take Master Card?" he sniped. "Get off your high horse, _Professor_ Logan, Oh Destroyer of kitchen units."

Logan snorted.

"Besides," John continued. "I was doing a favour for a friend."

_Oh yeah… that reminds me…_Logan thought, suddenly less than pleased with the kid.

"A friend, huh? Would that be your _best_ friend, or your best friend's girlfriend?" he sneered. "And that kiss, was that a _favour_ too?"

"They broke up. Furbie said so, so lay of the guilt trip shit already." John pushed past Wolverine and started down the stairs.

_He did NOT just turn his back on me!_

"Not so fast!" Logan growled, grabbing on to the boy's wrist. The pyrokinetic stopped as if frozen and turned slowly back to face him with a stare that was flashing gold.

"Let go Right. Now," he hissed.

"You can't just catch the rebound, you little shit!" Logan yelled, getting right up in his face. He was filled with an irrational anger that seemed kind of… foreign.

The Wolverine towered over Pyro, his adamantium-enforced hand tightening on the younger man's bandaged wrist. Logan thought he could hear bones creaking, but Pyro didn't seem to care at all.

Instead he just stared at him, a crazed glint in his eyes. "Let. Go. _Now!"_ he repeated.

"You don't get it do you, kid?" Logan said angrily, shaking him. "The world does _not_ revolve around you. You can't grab a guy's girl just because you feel like it!"

"No," Pyro conceded. At his admission, Logan let go of his arm and released a breath trying to calm down.

The moment his hand was free, Pyro took a step closer to him, surprising Logan somewhat. He had expected the boy to get away post haste as most people did when he was angry, but apparently the kid had absolutely _no_ sense of self preservation.

"No, I can't," Pyro repeated.

Logan, thinking that this confrontation was over, started to take a step down the stairs. His foot stopped mid-motion, however, at Pyro's next words: "That's more _your_ thing isn't it, Logan? You would now _all_ about hurting the ones you love, wouldn't you?"

A bone deep, searing pain shot through Logan's soul at those words.

**Rogue's look of surprise as his claws pierced her chest, Jean's pain glazed eyes.**

Logan's eyed screwed shut for moment and opened again, moist with unshed tears, to see Pyro regarding him with a malicious sneer.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" the young man asked with faked sympathic interest. "You seem to forget that I have a psychic in here with me," he tapped his temple lightly, "one that doesn't like you very much right now. I know your secrets, Logan, even the ones you keep from yourself."

Pyro left the stunned mutant on the stairs, throwing a parting word over his shoulder on his way down the stairs.

"Oh, and Logan? Don't _ever_ grab me again. People tend to get burned when they do that…"

The Wolverine swallowed the fear that had crept up his throat like acid at those words and the following realisation.

_He killed Dennis Allerdyce!_

Storm had told him about John's trial the night before, but he hadn't believed it, until now.

"Did _he_ grab you?" Logan asked and Pyro stopped.

He regretted his words the moment they had been spoken – but he _had_ to know. He buried his regret in the anger caused by Pyro's earlier words.

_Turn about is fair play._

The Wolverine waited with bated breath, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming. At the continued silence, he asked again.

"Dennis Allerdyce, your foster father, he _grabbed_ you? That's why you killed him?"

Again, the boy kept quiet. The silence stretched and stretched, becoming thick with tension. Pyro's shoulders were hunched as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible; a primal, animal gesture that instantly caused every single protective instinct in his former teacher to kick into overdrive.

Logan couldn't see his face, only a soft, smooth profile lined with firelight.

_So fucking young… what the hell does he know, anyway? _He thought.

He'd attacked a confused kid - accused him of hurting his friends. Of course John had lashed out at him!

Logan was about to walk over to the boy to… give him a hug (or maybe slap him) when quiet words pierced the silence.

"He used to make me hold my hand over a candle when I had fucked up or disrespected him." John's voice was completely emotionless, for the firs time in over a day. There was no feeling, nothing there… it was… blank, like he was reciting a shopping list from a piece of paper.

"That day, he'd been beating Jenny," he continued. "I could take care of scratches or bruises… I did, usually, but her shoulder was dislocated and she was crying,"

He ran his hands through his hair and bent his head.

"He found me in the kitchen with a telephone, about to call a doctor that lived down the street. _He_ thought I was calling the police and… lost it."

Logan swallowed and took a step closer, reaching out to put a hand on the boy's shoulder and tell him that he didn't have to continue, that he could guess at the rest.

Almost as if he sensed the Wolverine getting closer, Pyro turned towards him.

"He held my hand over the gas burner. He wouldn't let go, just laughed and yelled at me like he always did. He wasn't making any sense at all… He never did."

The boy shivered at the memory. Logan noticed John's voice had taken on a slight accent as he continued.

"I just wanted the pain to stop, y'know? I wanted him to let go… and Jenny… she just kept crying." His voice turned angry. "She didn't do anything…" the anger faded "…but she was hurt, so I guess she couldn't. I wanted him to just _stop_. That's when the flames stopped burning me."

John held his right hand up, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time.

"His sleeve caught fire, when he tried to push my hand further into the flames. He started screaming almost immediately… and so did she. She never liked fire, you see. I did most of the cooking at home…" he trailed of.

Hazel eyes rose to meet dark brown ones.

"I didn't _start_ the fire. I held it _back_, so it wouldn't burn anything else." He shrugged. "I guess that concentrated it, though, making it burn hotter where I let it. Did I kill Dennis? I don't know, but I bloody well hope so!" he finished, his voice cold, no sign of repentance in his eyes.

"Jenny, that's your foster mother, right?" Logan asked. At John's tense nod, he continued. "Well, Jenny said that you held him down while he burned."

John let out a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, she did, the lying bitch," he said. "I knew she was scared, but I didn't expect her to do something like that," he continued with a frown.

"I guess that's what you get for helping people. They turn right around and fuck you over," Pyro declared with a cynical snort.

Logan couldn't help but agree somewhat. The president had done the same thing, as had countless others.

"So you'll forgive me if my faith in the human race isn't what it used to be."

Logan nodded slowly in understanding, as Pyro murmured:

"Not that most mutants are any better."

Wolverine didn't know quite what to say, finding himself at a loss for words in the face of such a declaration.

'Man, you've got issues' seemed a bit immature and 'that sob story doesn't change the fact that you reminded me that I'm a murderer' a bit callous.

He settled for walking over to Pyro, taking care not to touch him, and said: "We better get moving. There should be ice cream waiting at the finish line," thereby completely circumventing the issue.

"Yeah… We'd better," Pyro responded, and Logan thanked whatever gods that might be listening that the kid subscribed to the same school of 'Avoidance and Denial of Awkward Situations' as he did.

Neither had apologised. Neither was going to. The issues where out there, though, and words weren't going to solve them, he knew.

_I wonder how alike we really are… _Logan wondered.

"Hey, Firefly?"

"Hmm?"

"There's a free slot in the Danger Room after dinner. Wanna fight?" he asked with a smile.

The fierce grin he got in return answered his question as completely as the following: "Bring it _on_, Wolfie!"

This sparked a barrage of banter, as they made their way to the Med-Lab.

"I'm gonna kick your ass, just so you know, kid."

"U-huh… yeah, I'm sure."

"I'll let you have first punch, just to liven things up a bit."

"Far be it from me to refuse a lady, I hope you're not too attached to that dorky hairdo…"

"It regenerates."

"My condolences…"

"And _I'm_ not the one with PMS."

"Ouch, that hurts, it really does."

"Oh, it will, punk. Don't worry, though, I'll go easy on you. It will be so fast you'll hardly feel a thing."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"That does it, kid! You're goin' _down_!"

"I'm shaking, no really, I am."

"I'll put some fear in you, Bub, just you wait!"

"Fear? Of you? Pft… You're not that scary, Logan"

"You know Barney? Big purple dinosaur?"

"Ugh, yeah. So…"

"He's gonna seem as safe as heavy metal by the time I'm done with you!"

"…fuck…"

"Damn straight!

**TBC**

**A/N: **I'd like to thank a certain certifiable reviewer (_cough_ Psychotherapy _cough_) for reminding me of just how freaking scary Barney is…_shudder_… poor Pyro.

Okay, so this chapter was pure conversation, err… sort of. I feel like huddling under a warm comfy blanket to keep the angst away!

I know, I might have diffused the tension in the end, but I also subscribe to the male school of problem solving.

I hope, really, really hope, to hear from you all after this chapter. My review count has gone down, and I can't figure out why… Don't ya like me no more?

Please take the time to drop me a line! I will make Pyro send hot hot lovin' in your general direction if you do…

Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa – **Chapter 14: (Title undecided, see below.)**

Next chapter will be up to you, my dear readers! It will either be **'Common People'**, returning Pyro to the school proper, or **'I Believe In You'** which is romance with a twist of angst. We won't loose either chapter, but you decide what you want first.


	14. Common People

**Disclaimer: **See chapter uno.

**A/N: **Ladies and Gentlemen (if there are any reading this?). The votes are in and so this chapter will be as follows.

I'd like to thank all the fifteen people who've reviewed the last chapter! Pyro loves ya! (The promised hot, hot, lovin' will soon be coming to a wet dream near you)

Now this is a ten page monster, just because I love ya too… Enjoy.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 14: Common People**

**Previously on Tabula Fucking Rasa:**

"**Maybe, someday, you will even have your friends back, Pyro. Maybe sooner than you think."**

**-()-**

"**You sure? He wouldn't mind? I wouldn't want to crowd him or anything."**

"**Yeah, I'm sure" she reassured him. "John was mentioning something about going 'absolutely ape-shit in that boring-ass Hellhole' or something,"**

**-()-**

"**You know Barney? Big purple dinosaur? He's gonna seem as safe as heavy metal by the time I'm done with you!"**

"…**fuck…"**

"**Damn straight!**

**-()-**

**And now the continuation:**

It was the sound of Logan's rough laughter that heralded the return of the wayward pyrokinetic to the Med-Lab. Doctor Hank McCoy looked up from his book with an incredulous shake of his head. The last he had heard, Logan was looking to kill the boy, and here they were, Logan laughing and Pyro grumbling playfully along, dramatically rubbing his arms as though he was cold or had the 'willies'.

A wave of heat followed the two men into the room and Beast couldn't help but enjoy the soothing touch of warmth as it reached him. It was a far cry from the sweltering furnace-like temperature John had created earlier.

_He must have calmed down some since last night._

"And what are you two making merry about?" he asked and looked at them over the top of his square wire rimmed glasses.

He was answered by a cease in laughter from Wolverine and a hoarse "ahem." Pyro just shrugged and said: "Oh nothing much, Chewie. Logie-boy here has just promised to kick my ass and put the fear of _Gawd_ into me after dinner."

Ignoring Hank's look of abject disbelief, he agilely hopped onto the examination table and enthusiastically clapped his hands once.

"So, what's up, Doc? Can we get this show on the road? I'm having breakfast in bed in a few minutes," he said with a blissful smile, rubbing his hands together briskly.

"Breakfast in… You're…" Hank stuttered, his mind scrambling desperately to catch up to the erratic behaviour of his young patient.

_That boy will be the death of me._

"It just so happens that you're in a lot of trouble, young man," he said sternly. "You simply cannot go waltzing about the Institute at your leisure at this time, John. You must realise that," he continued.

John looked at the doctor, searching for something, some clue to his emotions in his expression. Hank seemed to be genuinely upset, but it was the look of worry in his eyes that had John dropping the smile and saying: "Yeah, I know. I'm really sorry, Beast. I was just going crazy lying here doin' nothing. It won't happen again, I promise."

For some reason he had come to actually like the blue fur ball. Hank had been honest with him so far, and more importantly, he hadn't been patronising or threatening in any way. The doctor seemed to really _care_ about him, without even knowing him! That was completely new to John and he found himself wanting to return the favour.

Seeing the look of honest contrition on Pyro's face and glancing at Logan standing nearby, Hank decided that the lecture about messing with medical equipment could wait a while. If Logan had had his hands on the boy, that would have to be enough for now.

"Very well, John. See that it doesn't," he said and moved to the table.

"I'll need to check your bandages, so if you'll hold out your wrists… What on earth is _that_?"

The doctor had spotted the small holes in the young man's T-shirt and the accompanying stains. Immediately, Hank's eyes turned to bore into Logan's, reproof shining from them like light from a magnesium flare.

Logan could only look at the ground. Trying to explain the chaos of that morning was beyond him at that point. He hadn't even fully processed the turmoil of fear, grief and rage himself yet.

"Ah, it's just a scratch, Doc," John said, surprising both adults and bringing Hank's eyes back on his. Logan's head turned in surprise as well. Those 'scratches' had left the boy bleeding freely just a few minutes earlier! And now the boy was covering for him.

_I suppose this means I owe him one…_

"Just a scratch, eh?" Hank repeated with obvious disbelief. "Well, let's have a look, then."

John shrugged and obligingly pulled the shirt of with no obvious signs of discomfort.

_Huh… I guess that explains the lack of blood-smell earlier, _Logan thought to himself.

The puncture wounds on John's chest had scabbed over and looked about three days old.

"One of the bonuses of having a lunatic Class 5 in my head," John said with a nonchalant shrug in answer to Hank's surprised expression. "According to Doctor Grey, I will heal each new type of physical injury faster, the more times I experience it. There's also the nifty little perk of most powers not working on me."

At Doctor McCoy and Logan's looks he continued his voice a little subdued and tinged with sadness: "At Alkali Lake, Scott… his eyes couldn't hurt me… I mean her. When I'm familiar with a power and its affects, it can't really touch me. Jean calls it 'Concious Phasic Power Adaptability.' The Phoenix had it too."

"So it's a remnant of _her_ powers," Hank mused, intrigued. "Fascinating. We'll speak more of this later, John, if you will."

"Sure. I left a few files on your computer last night before I left. Medical stuff…You can check them out first, if you want to, you know, to get the general idea."

"I'll do that, thank you. Now if you'll hold out your wrists, please."

The Doctor proceeded to perform an examination on the young man, while Logan watched from the sidelines. Apparently, the wounds and bruising on his torso as well as the head trauma were gone.

Now Logan had seen the state the boy was in when they found him and he couldn't quite grasp the amount of physical abuse the kid's body would have had to have endured to cause that kind of healing.

In fact, the only injuries still visible on John's body were the cold sores on his wrists and the faded punctures left by Logan.

"So I guess I'm fit for fight, Wolfie," Pyro remarked in a whisper, when Hank had gone over to the other side of the room to check some readings on a monitor. "Still think you're gonna kick my ass?" he continued with a smirk.

_This is just too weird…_

Out loud he just mumbled: "Barney Spawn, kid. Pink ones… We're doing hand to hand."

"No way! Since when?" John exclaimed in outrage.

"Since now. Deal with it."

"Lousy motherf…"

Hank turned towards them again.

"…Ahem. Goose. Mother Goose. My favourite children's book," he finished sheepishly, ignoring Logan's snort.

"Mother Goose? Really? And here I thought it was 'Dante's Inferno'," Bobby said from the door, where he and Rogue stood with a tray of food and large smiles on their faces.

"That was _before_ kindergarten, Doofus," John answered sourly. "Try to keep up, will ya?"

"My mistake, I forgot you age backwards, Dyce."

"Oh well. Since you brought sugar, I forgive you, Drag."

"It's _Drake_."

"Oops – I forgot."

The atmosphere turned downright pleasant as the teens ate under the supervision of the two adults.

Logan and Hank had retreated to the corner of the room, giving them the illusion of privacy.

While Rogue and Bobby entertained John with tales of the new students at the Mansion, the two animalistic mutants had themselves an old fashioned showdown.

"You will _not _be dragging that boy into the Danger Room today, Logan. He's barely recovered!" Beast argued in a furious whisper.

"You saw it yourself, Hank. The kid's fine. It's just practise, you know, to loosen up a bit. It'll be fine."

"If you put a scratch on him, you will answer to me, I swear to heaven."

"Fine, fine, I promise I'll be careful," Logan conceded.

"See that you are," Hank sniffed and took a sip of his tea.

The tension between the two men was broken by a bout of laughter from the teens on the other side of the room.

"And then he tried to slam the door after him, but he got his wing caught on the door jam," Bobby was gasping out between giggles. "I've never even heard him say 'fuck' before and here he was, swearing like a sailor on amphetamine."

The Cryokinetic was sitting with his back against the foot of the hospital bed, facing John, now wearing a sleeveless vest, and Rogue who were holding onto each other, gasping for breath.

Hank couldn't avoid noticing that Pyro was completely ignoring the 'don't touch her skin' rule that again applied to the young woman. The two were bumping shoulders and their bare feet were entangled on the bed, Rogue having firmly shoved hers under Pyro's claiming that it was freezing.

"I absolutely _must_ meet this Warren dude," John declared a mischievous grin on his face, his eyes sparkling. "I'll bet you twenty quid I can make Angel boy say 'hell' in less than five minutes."

"You'll get your chance soon enough, John," Storm said, entering the lab. "You'll be joining the other students today."

The silence that followed her declaration and the initial look of happiness and relief followed by apprehension that flitted across Pyro's face made her continue with a gentle: "That is, if you feel that you're ready for it. I was lead to believe that you were rather bored down here?"

A look of near panic appeared on the young man's face at the thought of being stuck in Med-Lab for any period of time.

"No, I mean I was… I am. It's just, I didn't expect you to turn me loose so soon is all," he said hastily. "Thank you, Storm. I'd like that," he finished gratefully.

_A polite St John Allerdyce. Will wonders never cease? _The weather goddess thought to herself wryly. She could get used to that.

"You're welcome, John. Of course, you will have to serve some sort of detention for leaving the infirmary without permission and for being in the girls' dormitories after hours."

At this, Bobby's eyes sped from Storm to John to Rogue. It was only then he seemed to notice the closeness between his two friends.

_When did this happen? _

A part of him wasn't too surprised. Rogue had always liked and confided in John, and after last night's revelations she would have been upset.

In a way he was disappointed that she hadn't gone to him for comfort, but then he realised that she had. In Beast's office she had leaned on him and cried. She had let him hold her as she grieved. She hadn't gone to John for comfort but for understanding.

_Besides, he went to her and not the other way around…_

Bobby guessed it was a mutual need for confirmation and forgiveness of a sort. Of all the people John had left behind, he had probably hurt Rogue the most. The ideals he had apparently embraced were so far removed, even directly opposed to hers. The teen remembered the look of anguish on John's face as he had remembered his words in front of the cure clinic.

_I guess they both needed this._

As for his best friend staying in his ex girlfriend's room, he would just have to talk to him and find out what was going on, simple as that.

He tuned back to the conversation going on in the room just in time to hear John actually _agree_ to serve detention.

_Huh? _

The 'Twilight Zone' theme seemed to play in the back of his mind.

"You will be doing extra coursework, English and math I think," Storm was saying. "I will be informing the other students after morning class."

"Shit," Logan exclaimed, looking at his watch. "I have Phys Ed in five minutes. Gotta run."

As the Wolverine made his hasty way out of the infirmary, Ororo turned to Rogue and Bobby.

"You'd better get ready too. You have classes to teach, students to endure. Off you go," she said, ushering them out of the room.

"I'll se ya later, Johnny," Rogue threw over her shoulder along with a wave and a smile.

Bobby paused in the doorway, sending a look in Pyro's direction.

"Bobby. You comin'?" Rogue yelled from further down the corridor.

"Yeah, I am," he answered. "See you later, man." And he left in a jog.

After their departure, the conversation turned to John's detention. It was agreed that he was to complete a total of five essays and five complex math reports. He was kinda looking forward to that. He loved math and always seemed to do well in written English. He guessed it had something to do with having the time to express himself and not having to stand up in class.

"If I might make a suggestion, Ororo?" Hank cut in.

"Of course, Hank," Storm answered with a smile.

"Seeing as John has exhibited more than a little medical know-how since his return, I would like to put that knowledge to the test. I could use an assistant down here every once in a while, especially now that Logan has taken over the Physical Education of the youngsters… For some reason, the injuries have tripled in two months," he finished, chuckling a little.

Storm turned to Pyro and said: "What do you say, John? It's extra curricular work and that means extra credit. Are you interested?"

Pyro lifted an eyebrow at this development. He looked at Beast, meeting his smiling eyes and encouraging nod and then turned back to Storm.

"Just call me 'Nurse John,'" he smiled.

"Excellent," Storm said with approval. "I'll go and make a course plan for you."

The head mistress walked out of the room, leaving John and Beast alone.

"We'd better scrounge up some proper attire for you then," Hank said.

Morning classes flowed by, slow as molasses for Rogue. She was nervous and elated at the same time and kept losing her focus. She didn't succeed in reigning herself in until her class exploded in giggles at her declaration of "je suis une stylo," claiming that she was a pencil.

Bobby wasn't doing much better. His thoughts kept returning to the closeness he had noticed between John and Rogue earlier. Sure they had always been good friends, but there was something else there as well.

It didn't bother him, not really. He wanted the best for both of them, and a nagging voice in the back of his head was starting to whisper that maybe this was it. It was just a little fast he thought. He and Rogue hadn't broken up more than a few days ago.

He wasn't worried that John would hurt her. The pyrokinetic had always acted protective of her - more so than was normal for him, Bobby realised.

His analytical mind clicked this new thought into place. He remembered a conversation he had with his friend back when his and Rogue's relationship had just become official.

"**I cannot believe this is happening," Bobby had said, a goofy smile on his face.**

"**Believe it, Frosty," John had answered him. "Enjoy it, man. She's all yours, you deserve it."**

It was like he had been given his friend's blessing. At the time he had thought that it was John's roundabout way of saying that he didn't mind an addition to their duo, but maybe it had been something else; one interested party stepping down in favour of another?

_I really need to talk to John. I just need to know what is going on._

He ended up passing a work sheet around to entertain the class. With his mind going every which way, he wasn't going to get any actual teaching done today.

His students weren't the only ones breathing a sigh of release as the bell finally rang, signalling the end of morning class.

As they were packing up their books, Storm's voice sounded over the PA system.

"All students and faculty, please convene in the lounge. I have an announcement."

The kids talked excitedly amongst themselves as they made their way along the ground floor corridor towards the large lounge. Bobby's heartbeat jumped into overdrive at the thought of what lay ahead.

He met Rogue at the entrance and they stood together at the front of the room along with the rest of the faculty. It seemed that the other TA's had already been informed. Warren looked less than collected but not overly upset and Piotr seemed to be as stoical as always.

When everyone was gathered, Storm called for attention. The weather witch held her head high as she looked around the room, meeting the eyes of the children with calm and kindness.

"Thank you for coming, everyone, and let me assure you that this is nothing severe, merely an addition to the student body," she started and several of the older kids relaxed and smiled in relief.

"These days have seen the start of a new era for us mutants," Storm continued. "It is a time where we must stand together and exercise the utmost of patience and understanding, not only towards the humans, but also amongst ourselves. The fight at Alcatraz is fresh in our minds, and the ripples of that particular boulder are still spreading."

Storm again scanned the room, gauging the children's reactions to her words. The younger looked somewhat confused and the older showed a mix of seriousness, curiosity and apprehension. She met each of their eyes and tried to imprint upon them the importance of what she was about to say.

"In the aftermath of that event, new allies have been found," here she looked at Angel, "and old ones have returned," she continued.

A wave of whispers spread through the students, each one trying to guess at her meaning.

"What do you mean, Storm?"

"Who is it?"

"Children, please," she said loudly, holding her hands up to ward of the questions. "Yes, today will see the reintroduction of a former student to the school. I strongly encourage each and every one of you to receive this student well and exhibit the very best of behaviour, as I have come to expect. I know you will make me proud."

She received several determined nods from the children at this and smiled back at them.

"This afternoon, John Allerdyce will be rejoining the student body," she said with determination.

A hush fell over the room, as the kids gaped in disbelief. The younger and newer students had only heard of Pyro, the terrorist, and the older ones gaped in a mix of horror and surprise.

"No _way_!" Kitty finally exclaimed, voicing the thoughts of everyone. "For real?"

"Yes, Kitty, I assure you that this is not a joke. John survived Alcatraz and we believe that, due to certain circumstances, he cannot be held accountable for his actions while he was away. In fact, he doesn't remember much of his time with the Brotherhood."

This declaration lead to a new barrage of whispers and questions to which Storm answered: "These circumstances cannot be disclosed at this time, but they are very real. I _know_ you will behave according to school rules and the ideals of friendship and acceptance that Professor Xavier left behind and treat John with an open mind. That is all, children. Thank you for your attention."

Hank McCoy had watched the crowd from the sidelines and he had to congratulate Storm on her performance. That last bit had held the perfect mix of pride in the students, pre-emptive guilt trip to stave of aggression and threat of reprisals should anyone break the rules laid down.

_We'll make a politician out of you yet, my dear._

As the room slowly emptied, the children heading for the dining room, he watched their expressions and knew that Logan was shamelessly listening in on their whispered conversations. Hank's diplomatic spider sense was tingling like crazy, picking up on a massive amount of tension in the room.

_This could get very ugly. Please, oh please, behave yourself, John._

Downstairs Dining Room

The dining room was awash with excited conversation and hushed whispers.

Rogue sat by the window, looking out over the grounds and trying to enjoy the sunshine and block out the voices. The two chairs closest to her were empty, as they had been before the cure. Apparently the rumours had spread like wildfire and the reappearance of her gloves had confirmed them: she was poisonous to touch again.

Kitty sat down in front of her with a tray of food. The brunette was clearly a member of the 'excited' faction; she was practically bouncing in her seat.

"Did you know?" she asked, looking at Rogue with undivided attention. The table grew quiet at her question. Apparently she wasn't the only one who was curious.

Rogue sighed, giving up the thought of a moment's peace and turned to face Shadowcat.

"Yeah, I knew," she answered, shrugging as if it was no big deal. "He's been back a few days. He was unconscious when they found him, so he's been in the infirmary."

"And he really doesn't remember?"

"No not much," Rogue fibbed. "He's changed a bit as I'm sure you'll notice."

Kitty swallowed a piece of apple. "Changed? Changed how?" she asked.

Rogue thought about that a bit. John certainly had changed. Not so much in how he treated her, but more in his way of showing it. He used to be an extremely private person when it came to feelings. Now, however, he didn't seem to give damn about showing emotion in public.

"He's… nicer, I guess you would call it," she said at last, not really sure how to explain it. "He's really been through a lot, so _please_ give him some space, alright?" she pleaded.

"Nicer, huh? That's interesting," Kitty mused. "So he's finally found a bearable personality to go along with his _more_ than bearable bod'?" This started of a spout of giggles from the younger girls and a very small reluctant smile from Rogue. Kitty was and would always be an incorrigible flirt.

"Give it a rest, Kitty," she said with an exasperated shake of her head.

_Like that is ever going to happen,_ she thought to herself.

She didn't know why, but right then Kitty's usually harmless gushing over anything male irritated her somewhat.

_Wasn't hitting on Bobby enough? She should have called herself 'Vixen' instead…_

A hush fell over the room.

Almost as one, the students turned towards the door and the two young men who stood there.

John was wearing what Rogue thought might be some of Bobby's old clothes. The black slacks, green V- neck sweater and white trainers would certainly never have found their way into the anything-with-print-loving John's wardrobe. He looked almost… preppy.

Bobby and he had stopped short in the doorway faced with the wall of stares cast their way.

Looking around, noting familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, and trading a polite nod with Piotr John straightened from his usual slouch and, suppressing a smirk, directed a conversational "boo" at the room, before making his way to Rogue's table.

He artfully ignored the stares, the glares and the whispers that followed him as he took the seat closest to her.

Torn out of his stupor by the redirection of peoples' attention, Bobby shook himself and followed.

"Hey, Rogue, how's tricks?" John was asking while stealing a bun from her tray and biting into it.

"Oh, same ol' same ol', you?" she said with a smile, handing Bobby a bottle of water she'd brought with her, knowing that he always forgot just as she had brought an extra roll, knowing that John liked her food better for some reason.

_Damn, it feels good to have my boys back!_

"Back from the dead, the centre of attention, and in good company," he returned with a smile at his two friends. "Couldn't be better."

**TBC**

**A/N**: Whoo…. Nearly four, count them FOUR thousand words! Go me. This was the chapter that just wouldn't stop, I'm tellin' ya!

I received fifteen reviews for the last chapter and suddenly I felt inspired. Amazing what a little feed back will do to kick a muse into gear (hint hint).

I've decided to divide the contents of **'I Believe In You'** between the next few chapters instead of keeping it all together, just to keep things rolling.

I, personally, am proud as hell of this chapter! One of my best, in my opinion. I hope you all agree with that assessment.

Please take the time to review! It's thirty seconds, really, and I think I deserve some lovin' after this monster! The purple button is right there (points) so go for it!

Next time on Tabula Fucking Rasa – **Chapter 15: Cruisin' For A Bruisin'**

(Yes… that would be the long awaited ass kicking)


	15. Cruisin For A Bruisin'

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**A/N: **This was going to be longer, but I only got about twelve or so reviews for the massive chapter that was number 14, so I kinda lost my groove… This is _not _blackmail, mind you. I will update as I always do, don't worry.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 14: Cruisin' For A Bruisin'**

**Last time on Tabula Fucking Rasa:**

"**This afternoon, John Allerdyce will be rejoining the student body,"**

**-()-**

_**This could get very ugly. Please, oh please, behave yourself, John.**_

**-()-**

"**He's changed a bit as I'm sure you'll notice."**

**Kitty swallowed a piece of apple. "Changed? Changed how?" she asked.**

**And now the continuation:**

Logan was sitting leaned back in his, surprisingly comfortable, office chair, his legs propped up on his desk with his boots on, ankles crossed.

An unlit cigar was clamped between his teeth and he was half-heartedly chomping on it, trying to get a little of the tobacco flavour out of it, even if he wasn't allowed to smoke indoors.

Six months ago, he would have been happily pulsing away, but now…

Now he was a teacher - a glorified babysitter of a group of adolescent mutants.

It was like watching over a large stash of TNT just waiting to explode, and this afternoon, they would be reintroduced to mercury switch number one: St John Allerdyce, the one and only.

It wasn't going to be pretty, if today's overheard conversations were anything to go by. There had been plenty of aggression present in the lounge after Storm's announcement. It seemed that Pyro hadn't made a lot of friends during his first stay at the Mansion and many of the older kids obviously saw his current 'fragile' mental state and his perceived betrayal as carte blanche for some long overdue payback.

Pyro was going to be dodging, or participating in fights, left right and centre, especially during Logan's classes, which included martial arts and contact sports. Wolverine was glad that he'd challenged John to a bit of hand to hand that evening. He needed to be sure that the kid would be able to take care off himself, should the need arise.

Logan was convinced that Pyro had received _some_ combat training during his months with the Brotherhood, but whether or not the kid remembered any of it, or even if that training had been physical in nature, he didn't know.

_Either way, it should be interesting._

Logan had never seen the pyrokinetic in action, only witnessed the aftermath at the Drake house in Boston. The sheer destruction that had been left behind had staggered him. All that caused by one kid in the space of ten or twenty seconds. It had looked like a war zone and Pyro had just shrugged as if to say 'Oops. No big deal.'

If _that _wasn't considered by the boy to be a 'big deal' then Logan shuddered to think what would.

Watching from a distance at Alcatraz, he had gotten a better scope of the havoc the kid could wreak, but he'd been held back then too, this time by Magneto.

Now, however, the gloves were off, Xavier's blocks had been removed and Pyro was back and more dangerous than ever, especially with the Phoenix riding shotgun in his head.

Logan _had_ to see for himself what kind of potential the boy had now. He had to assess the threat he might become to the school, or the public in general, should he go rogue again. Also, it was imperative that he found out what made the kid tick. John didn't seem to remember why he left in the first place, so pin pointing a trigger for that kind of behaviour would be damned difficult.

Even if he did (kinda sorta) like the bitter, grumpy boy (he reminded him of someone), he would be damned if he let him compose a threat to the rest of his kids. Because they _were_ his now; they were his to protect, and he was going to do his job, even if it became the death of him.

For now, Pyro seemed to have calmed down and gained control of his own head space, but Logan would have to push him to be sure.

_Why do I have a feeling this is gonna hurt?_

The Wolverine clearly remembered the agony he had felt when he fought his way closer to the Phoenix at Alcatraz.

Feeling one's skin disintegrate and heal only to be ripped open again in a never-ending cycle was not an experience he cared to revisit. Logan fervently hoped that John had _not_ inherited that particular power, even if the vanishing of the painting in the upstairs hallway this morning hinted that he might have.

The fact of the matter was that at that point, the only one who really knew what Pyro could do was well…Pyro. And the kid wasn't talking.

Logan was very glad he had a keen nose for trouble and the ability to walk away from near death experiences like it was nothing. He was going to need each and every advantage to deal with this situation, of that he was sure. That included using Bobby and Rogue as sounding boards to figure out the infernal mess that was John's mind.

Right at that moment, the kids in question were at lunch with the rest of the student body, and he was enjoying a quiet moment to himself, recuperating after a rather strenuous Phys Ed class. Not that he felt any actual fatigue, no. The kids were all too soft, squishy, and far, far too slow to keep up with him physically. It was constantly having to watch out for them, the incessant whining and most importantly the arrogance of many of them that got to him. Each of them seemed deep down to believe that they were indestructible or invincible.

Today had been sheer hell! He'd started out by having to take a hit for Sam, who'd been stupid enough to piss off Boom Boom. This had been followed by an ill begotten attempt at retaliation from said teenage boy, which had hit Magma, which in turn had sparked a full on power-fight in the gymnasium.

Logan hated, really, really hated teaching. With a passion.

And it was only going to get worse, later in the day, he knew. After lunch he had double French class.

_Is it too late to sign back up with Weapon X? _he wondered with a sigh.

All in all, he was glad to have scheduled a bit of one-on-one violence after dinner. He was going to need the outlet! However, he was far too smart to go in completely unprepared. The Doc wanted an account of any changes in physique and so forth the kid might have experienced, and Logan wanted to know what he had to go on.

_Well, I'd better get to it, then._

John's medical, social and school files were on his desk waiting to be perused. With a sigh, Logan sat up and opened the first one. Slowly chewing his way through the medical lingo he finally came to the conclusion that John had been basically average.

John Allerdyce was of average built, if a little on the short side. He had a slightly higher than average metabolism, due to his elemental nature, average hearing, average eyesight, although he might need reading glasses at age thirty five, so nothing spectacular at all on that account. Other than his mutant specific features and abilities, he was normal.

_Well, _that_ was certainly useful._

Moving on to the social file he read through the accounts of John's life before Xavier's Academy: the foster families, the abuse, the trial. Other than his age at the time of his first manifestation, ten years, which was earlier than most, but not unusual for a class 4, there wasn't anything in there of use. The only new thing he learned was that his biological parents were both unknown.

Logan didn't have the time to properly read through the school file before his next class, so he settled for skimming it. Only one thing caught his eye: the file number of Pyro's taped first Danger Room session and obstacle course training.

_Now this is what I'm talking about! A little sneak peak at the competition._

Logan packed up his material for the Two Hours of Hell that was French class and made his reluctant way to the class room. They would be doing etiquette today…shudder.

**-()-**

A few minutes earlier, downstairs dining room

After lunch, the dining room slowly emptied. Rogue, Bobby and John were among the last to leave. They had spent a rather tense break trying to act normal and unaffected in spite of the stares thrown their way.

As they stood up from their seats, John picked up his bag to check if he had everything.

_Text book – check, notepad – check, ball point pen – check, but where the…_

"Where the hell is my lighter?" he grumbled, feeling around at the bottom of the bag. He was so intent on his search that he missed the look shared by his two friends. They had been warned by Doctor McCoy that he might still get confused every once in a while and here was proof.

John ended up emptying the contents of the bag onto the table and sorting through it, one item at the time, as though his Zippo was hiding between the pages of his text book.

"Wait," Rogue said. "You take French? Since when?" she asked in surprise.

Still rifling through his stuff, John gave a half hearted shrug.

"Mystique insisted I learn a foreign language," he explained and continued: "She could be pretty insistent about it too. I can't wait to compare her teaching methods with Logan's."

Bobby shook his head in wonder.

"You learned the 'language of love' from an internationally wanted assassin? That's just… weird."

Rogue smiled at the imagery that thought invoked, but John seemed to have forgotten all about the conversation and was now rooting through his pockets, growing steadily more aggravated.

"Where the fuck is it?" he hissed and ran a hand through his hair. Rogue and Bobby both knew that this was not good. A hand through the hair was just one step down from 'run if you're combustible.'

"John?" Rogue said in a low voice. "John, listen to me, please."

It might have been the 'please' that did it, or it might have been her hand on his forearm, but he turned to face her with an eyebrow raised in question, giving her his full attention for a moment.

"You don't need the lighter now, remember?" she gently reminded him. "You don't have it anymore."

John blinked a few times as though he had trouble grasping what she was saying. His next reaction was to grasp his right wrist, looking for something there? He seemed kind of lost.

Bobby quickly caught on to the awkwardness of the situation and John's momentary confusion. Scrambling for something to break the silence he said:"So…what else did they teach you there?"

John shifted his attention to him and was about to speak, but before he had a chance to answer an angry and jarring voice asked: "Aside from murdering people that is."

As one, the three friends turned to the next table where three of the older boys sat glaring at them. John remembered one of them as being called Sun Stain or something. The other two he didn't know. The six of them were the only ones left in the room at that point, the three boys having purposely hung behind.

"What?" John said to the speaker, who happened to be the largest of the three. That one word came out harsh and rather aggressive. "Who the hell are you anyway?" he continued, meeting the guy's glare head on.

Now was _not_ a good time to be confronting Pyro, Bobby knew. His friend was not at the top of his game and he tended to get pretty aggro when he felt vulnerable.

_Oh boy, here we go, _Iceman thought and braced himself for conflict.

The large boy stood up. He had several piercings through his ears and one in his lower lip. His hair was cut extremely short on both sides of his head, like a wide Mohawk, the front part of which was dyed a bright red. All together he looked very tribal and _very_ aggressive.

"God, Lawrence. Just back off, will ya?" Bobby said in exasperation.

"Fuck off, Iceman," was the terse answer he received.

The tall young man moved away from his table and walked over to the three of them, getting right up in John's face as he sneered: "The name's Berserker, _Pyro,_" he spat. He towered over the pyrokinetic using his more than six feet to his advantage. "And I asked you what you learned in terrorist school other than murder. I bet that blue bitch taught you a few _other_ things as well," he chuckled with a leer.

John eyes turned to smouldering flames as he said in an utterly calm voice:"She _did_ teach me a few things, yes. Like how to spot someone who is all talk and no game. If you want a piece of me, then you'll have to wait, big guy. We can pick up this simply _riveting_ discussion in Phys Ed tomorrow."

"I'm gonna have you calling for daddy Mags in ten seconds flat," he growled.

Pyro smiled a little at that with a calm expression on his face as though he was watching something cute and amusing, like a puppy doing tricks. He looked down right scary right then, Bobby thought, completely psychotic.

"Alright, then," he said as though he had just finished a pleasant discussion.

The slender young man calmly turned his back on the glowering mutant in front of him and started packing his stuff up. Bobby and Rogue both cringed. This was typical John Allerdyce: passive aggression. Berserker looked about ready to explode with rage at the slight.

"Don't you fucking turn your back on me, you piece of filth," he roared and grabbed John's shoulder, forcibly turning him around. Sparks of blue energy appeared around his other hand as he pulled it back to deliver a punch. The air crackled with electricity.

"Lawrence, no!" Rogue yelled and pushed herself between them. That was a mistake. Normally, people would have backed away from her as they always did, a fact she had come to rely on. Berserker, however, was new to the Institute. He hadn't seen the effects of her mutation and besides he was far too gone in his anger to stop at this point.

His fist came flying with the speed and force of a runaway freight train and would have hit her squarely in the face if John hadn't turned them both around, wrenching his shoulder to get out of Lawrence's grip. Instead, the massive fist hit him hard in the back of the head, and he saw stars for a moment. Shocks shot up and down his spine, making him clench his teeth hard.

Before he could shake it off and ask Rogue if she was alright, he was yanked away from her and locked in a choke hold from behind. At the same time, Berserker planted a heavy boot on the back of his lower leg and pushed, forcing him down to one knee.

At this, Bobby moved to interfere. He just could _not_ believe this. Not an hour had gone by and already Storm's words were forgotten, along with the ideals he himself so ardently believed in. Bobby was not a violent person by a long shot, but he _was_ protective and Berserker had just over stepped the bounds. His hands frosted over and the room temperature dropped five degrees in a matter of seconds.

"No," John gasped, flinging a hand out in his general direction as if to stop him, the other busy grasping the arm that was slowly strangling him. Bobby stopped in his tracks a look of bewilderment on his face. The room returned to normal and his hands slowly unclenched.

_He must be kidding!_

Berserker outweighed John by at least forty pounds of pure muscle. There was no _way_ his friend was getting out of this one, but John had waved him back, so he must have something up his sleeve, right?

Chuckling darkly, the huge mutant grabbed John's throat with one of his massive hands and lifted him up in the air, turning him so they were once more facing each other. As Pyro's feet left the ground the chuckle turned to full blown laughter.

"You still think the situation is funny, Mr Big Shot Terrorist? Huh?" He shook John once and squeezed with his hand, completely closing off the smaller mutant's air supply.

To Rogue, John's expression was pained but still that aura of calm surrounded him. He had started to gag, but it looked to her as though he didn't mean to fight back at all.

_Damn it! If he won't then I will!_

She began to remove her gloves and hoped to high heavens that her mutation had returned. This move didn't go unnoticed by Lawrence who looked at her and grunted:" Move a muscle, and you're fried meat! Believe me, bitch, this aint worth whatever he's paying you."

Rogue paused in her tracks. The look of pure insane anger on Berserker's face genuinely scared her but John… She had to help.

_What do I do? He can fry me from there, there's no way I'm gonna get close enough to touch him. Aw hell!_

"That's right, slut, you just go back to doin' what you do best. Don't worry, though. When I'm done, you'll still have one customer left," he said with a look in Bobby's direction.

Suddenly John's hand dropped away from Berserker's, only to grasp onto his wrist. His eyes snapped open, ablaze with yellow flames and all the heat in the room seemed to rush into his thin body.

With an audible crackle, an aura of fire erupted from within him, engulfing the pyrokinetic like an inferno, blinding in its intensity, burning white.

The huge mutant dropped Pyro with a yelp of pain. His former victim landed on his feet, slowly straightening as Berserker cradled his burned hand to his chest. The pyrokinetic tilted his head to one side, then the other with barely audible cracks, his eyes never leaving his opponent (prey?).

As the three other teens watched, the angry red welts Berserker had on Pyro's neck slowly faded before their eyes. The fire around him seemed to flare as if in slow motion, the gentle flickering illuminating his features and reflecting in his eyes, making him appear absolutely alien.

"See, I was going to wait until you were done with the physical intimidation shit," Pyro said hoarsely with a feral smile. "But then you had to go and insult the _other_ female I respect as well, so now I'm gonna have to hurt you," he continued in a low conversational tone, neither Bobby nor Rogue had heard before. It was reminiscent of the aggressive hissing of wet wood burning.

This wasn't John, they realised; this was Pyro, the Class 4 mutant who had taken lives without batting an eyelash.

He took a step closer to Lawrence and his opponent's many piercings started to heat up rapidly. The floor seemed untouched by the flames surrounding Pyro but the air was steadily getting too hot to breathe. Berserker's two friends had already backed away from the table and were making for the exit, ignoring their friend's pained cries as his metal ornaments started to burn his skin.

"I believe Rogue would like an apology, mate" Pyro continued a hint of accent showing through in his speech. "Now."

"I'm… shit!...I'm _sorry_!" Lawrence all but cried.

As quickly as they had started, the flames blinked out of existence and the air became breathable again. They left behind an average looking, rather short teenage boy with laughing hazel eyes.

"See, was that so hard?" John asked with a smirk. "You know, 'Pissed-Off-Man' or whatever the hell your name is, you should consider anger management classes. I'm taking some this semester. I hear they're quite good."

He bent to pick up his fallen school bag and hefted it over one shoulder.

"Now fuck off, ass wipe, I'll see you in Phys Ed," he said coldly, waving a hand in absent dismissal.

For the second time in the same amount of minutes Berserker was presented with Pyro's back. This time, however, he took the smart option and walked away. As he exited the room, heading for the infirmary he heard Pyro ask in a gentle voice so far removed from the cold, scary tones of only a moment ago that it freaked him out:

"Rogue, are you okay?"

**TBC**

**A/N: **I know this is not the Danger Room session most of you were probably waiting for. I was planning to put it in here, but then Berserker wanted to 'play'.

Berserker is an **X-Men: Evolution** character that I tweaked a bit to fit my purposes. In the comic books he's like this über warrior who's about as old as Apocalypse if not older…. Go figure.

**A little request to my reviewers**: First of all, I LOVE YOU! I'm _so_ glad every time that little counter goes up, I really am. But please, when you review, could you write a bit more than "I like it, please update?"

I hope I'm not pissing anybody off right now, but I'd like reviews that help me write. I don't know… mention a thing that you like/dislike about the chapter or something, that's all.

And second, I have enabled you to leave anonymous reviews, but if you do and you want me to reply to them, you have to leave an email address or PM me with one, because I won't be doing it in the chapters. Other than that, every single review will be answered! I promise.

Enough with the rant…thank you for reading. (Discreetly motions towards the 'review' button)

Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa – **Chapter 16: Cogito Ergo Es, Bitch!**


	16. Cogito Ergo Es, Bitch!

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**A/N: **Thank you so much for your reviews! (All seventeen of them! Squee!) I've now rounded 150… crazy.

Without further ado, here's the next chapter, slightly delayed (see notes at the bottom).

Enjoy!

**-()-**

**Before, on Tabula Fucking Rasa:**

**Pyro was back and more dangerous than ever, especially with the Phoenix riding shotgun in his head.**

**-()-**

"_**No, Wolverine – you merely unlocked my prison, and by doing so, left me free to find someone who could carry me well, someone who understands me. And he's so strong…"**_

**And now, the continuation:**

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 16: Cogito Ergo Es, Bitch!**

Logan pushed open the door to the French class, a belligerent scowl firmly planted on his face. Tromping through the aisles to the front of the room, he turned and eyed his opponents (ahem…students) with a glare.

"Alright, we'd better get started," he said, a regretful tinge to his voice, not really becoming of a teacher.

He really hated this class. Nobody seemed to like the subject; everybody here took the class only because a second language was a requirement at the school.

His glare caused the students to quickly quiet down. Everybody took their seats and looked at him with a mix of polite, if bored, attention and apprehension. Logan was a tough teacher at the best of times but today he seemed about ready to explode for some reason.

Logan noticed John sitting alone at a corner table, sporting a facial expression that matched his own with uncanny accuracy. The next two tables were vacant and everybody was studiously avoiding looking at him.

Pyro, of course, ignored them right back.

The boy was slumped down in his seat and his arms were crossed in front of him in a 'don't you fucking _dare_ call on me' pose. Logan was, of course, unable to back down from a challenge and did just that.

"I know you've all fought your ways through the reading material for today's class," he started.

His eyes honed in on the newest student in the room, and he continued in French, slowly so the class could keep up.

"Mr Allerdyce, you will be enlightening the class on the basic principles of conversational etiquette."

At this, John, if possible, leaned farther back in his chair. His eyes met Logan's defiantly from across the room, one eyebrow lifted as if to say 'oh, really?' He didn't say a word.

"Now, Pyro!"

Slowly straightening at Logan's harsh tone, John unfolded his arms and answered, French words flowing heavily accented but at normal speed, in an entirely too chipper and saccharine voice:

"I would think, sir, that the first principle of conversational etiquette regards the instigator of the conversation. The first to speak must set the tone. I believe that the primary rule of any _polite_ conversation is that it takes _two_ people to have one. Don't you agree, _sir_?"

He ended his speech with a bright and sunny smile that wouldn't have lit up a two-by-two cardboard box.

Logan pursed his lips at this reply, counting to ten in every language he knew to stop himself from hurtling across the room to throttle the teenager.

"Quite," he forced out through clenched teeth.

_Pain… lots of pain! I'm in hell…_

**-()-**

The first part of the class was spent further discussing the concept of conversational etiquette and the hierarchy of speech acts. The students battled their way through pre-made conversations from the text book, mangling the French language beyond recognition for the most part. It didn't take Logan more than ten minutes to develop a headache the size of Magneto's ego.

No one seemed up for working with John, so in the end he had to practically force Kitty to do it. Surprisingly enough, she didn't protest too much and was soon batting her eyelashes at Pyro, while asking: "Pardonne moi, Monsieur. Il'ya des pommes de terre?"

Logan choked back a snort of mirth at John's sour "non!"

After a short break they continued a questionnaire on grammatical analysis that they had begun the week before.

John was completely stumped.

Mystique had focused entirely on speech and reading. He had never been required to actually sit down and break apart stupid sentences into their stupid parts before.

He was bored to tears in ten seconds flat.

Pyro ended up alternating between doodling in the margins of the text book and twirling his pen between his fingers with an agility born of years of practise. One fist supported his drooping head and his eyes turned to the clock again and again.

_I hate school… I have to do this shit two times a week? I'm in hell._

**-()-**

That afternoon, when his first official half day of classes was finally over, John threw himself onto his new bed in the single room that had been assigned to him.

Apparently all senior students got their own space and didn't have to share, for which he was grateful. He really didn't feel like dealing with a roommate right then. He needed room to think.

Everyone had been glaring and/or whispering behind his back all day. Apparently his altercation with Berserker was now public knowledge and everyone seemed convinced that he was just as 'eeevil' as he had apparently always been.

Even though Bobby and Rogue had been running interference for him, he was exhausted. He had decided to forego dinner in the common room and instead take a nap before meeting up with Logan in the Danger Room. He had a feeling that he would need all the excess energy he could muster.

"**_Nonsense, child - I'm sure you could melt the adamantium off his bones if you tried…"_**

The insidious voice of the Phoenix slid through his brain, more reptile than avian.

Images of Logan, his flesh being seared from his bones, started playing across his retinas with frightening clarity, the rushing sound of super heated air and _her _laugh filling his ears and drowning out the tentative knock on his door.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, bitch," he mumbled tiredly. "Can't you leave me alone for five fucking minutes?"

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?"

John sat up on the bed in confusion.

"Wha…"

Bobby was standing in the doorway, a schoolbag slung over his shoulder.

"I can come back later, if this isn't a good time for you," Bobby offered hesitantly.

The cryokinetic knew that his friend was dealing with a bad case of multiple personalities, but hearing the usually cool and in-control Pyro talking to himself in that almost broken voice threw him for a moment.

John seemed to pull himself together, though, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, facing his old friend.

"Nah, that's cool, man. Come on in," he said, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

"You weren't at dinner," Bobby began, walking over to the bed and sitting down a few feet from Pyro. "I don't want to disturb you, but I really need to talk to you about something…"

"O-kay," John said, noting the serious look on his friend's face. Bobby looked apprehensive and just a little scared.

_Jesus, he's not scared of _me_ is he?_ He thought.

John wasn't sure he could handle that. Not from Bobby.

"Bobby, what is it, man? You look like you're about to pass out or something."

John tried to insert some levity into his voice but it came out kinda shaky.

"How well do we know each other, John?" Bobby asked, not giving his friend a direct answer.

"Huh?" John said in confusion. "Bobby, what are you talking about?"

"Please just answer the question, John!"

"Fine," the pyrokinetic grumbled.

"Thank you."

"Well…We've been roommates for years," the younger boy started. "We've… talked…" he trailed off.

_This is ridiculous!_

"What is the point of this, man?" he exclaimed, highly uncomfortable.

_Where is this going? He's not getting all psycho-analytical on me, is he?_

John was no idiot. He was very well aware that his past must have been discussed amongst the faculty. How else could Logan know about his… his…_Dennis_?

The mere thought of having his childhood plastered on the teacher's notice board for all to see made him sick. Even worse would be if Bobby or, God forbid, Rogue knew.

"It's complicated," Bobby hedged.

"Just fucking say it already, man. You know I can't stand this 'nudge, nudge' shit!" John said staring into his friend's eyes, trying to conjure up a straight answer form the suddenly timid young man.

Bobby endured the look for about two-point-five seconds before looking down and starting to fiddle with the hem on his shirt. "I don't know how to… you'll be pissed."

Huffing in annoyance, John stood from the bed and started pacing. "Correction: I _am_ pissed, Iceman. Spit it out, right. Now."

"Are you in love with Rogue?"

Pyro stopped in his tracks and turned back to face the bed in slow motion, a move worthy of a horror movie.

"What?" he all but whispered.

"Are you in love with her?" Bobby repeated, his voice gaining a little more confidence.

_It's out there, now. Nothing to do but follow through…_he thought.

"You've been actin' different, John. I can't think of any other reason…" he continued.

"Well, thinking never was your strong point, now was it?" John interrupted, falling back on anger to mask his continued surprise and discomfort. He felt almost… insulted?

**_She is weak. Unworthy. What would you need _her _for? _**

_Shut up…_

"God! Will you just answer the question?" Bobby was getting angry now. John was rarely serious when it came to discussing emotions and the like, but Bobby had hoped that he could at least pull it together for Rogue's sake, if nothing else.

John shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, breathing through his nose.

_I cannot believe we're having this conversation…_

"**You can't just catch the rebound, you little shit!"**

"Come on, man. You just broke up with her. What do _you_ think?" He asked angrily.

"I think that you haven't answered the question," Bobby persisted, standing up. For someone who hated beating around the proverbial bush, John sure could keep up with the best of them at times.

Pyro crossed the five feet between them and got right up in Bobby's face.

_I HATE being short!_

**_But you have _power_. Show him, Pyro! Ice melts…_**

"Shut up," he whispered.

"What?" Bobby replied.

_He did _not_ just say that!_

"You're such a pushy bastard, Bobby!" Pyro growled, ignoring his friend's latest question.

Realising he was getting nowhere, fast, Bobby decided to try another approach.

"Look, man. She's falling for you, I can tell. I just wanted to make sure that you were in for the long haul… that you weren't gonna… I mean." He paused with wide eyes at his own words.

_I didn't mean that. I did NOT just say that!_

"That I wasn't going to leave. Is _that_ what you meant?" Pyro hissed, withdrawing with an indecipherable look on his face.

"John…"

"That's not fair, man."

"I know. I'm sorry." Bobby looked at his friend with pleading eyes.

_You know me, man… Please. I'msorrydon'tgodon'tleaveagain._

"I don't have time for this right now," was John's only answer, delivered in a tone that could freeze lava.

The pyrokinetic picked up a towel from where it lay across a chair and headed for the door, completely ignoring the anguished expression on his friend's face.

His hand was turning the doorknob, when Bobby found his voice and asked a question that made him stop.

"Do you _love_ her?"

John looked at the floor.

"You know I do."

"Are you _in_ love with her?" Bobby persisted.

Circumventing the question, John instead asked: "She's falling for me?"

"Yes," Bobby answered simply, firmly. Now that the words had been spoken, there wasn't a doubt in his mind.

"Why?" his friend asked, looking seriously at him, as though he really didn't get it.

"Why don't you ask her?" Bobby said gently.

John opened and closed his mouth a few times as though he was about to speak.

"I…I gotta go," he finally muttered, desperate to get away from the conversation and its implications.

"John! Please just answer me."

The pyrokinetic took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Iceman asked.

"Yes I am."

"In love with her?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Bobby…"

"I'm not."

John looked at his best friend in surprise. He was met with sparkling blue eyes that held only acceptance.

The two shared a small smile, and Bobby walked over to John.

"I'll walk you to the Danger Room," he said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

John was still smiling a little, a (for Pyro anyway) goofy look on his face.

Suddenly the importance of his admission settled like a weight around his shoulders.

_Holy fuck! I'm really in love with her. But what if Bobby's wrong?_

Suddenly John's eyes turned vacant and a shiver went through him. His vision went completely black only to be filled with writhing flames that actually burned his retinas.

**_Love? LOVE? Yes we love her, we hate her, we _need_ her. This is all _you_, Pyro. YOUR weakness. What are you thinking? She is pathetic! One of them! _**The Phoenix hissed in outrage.

The towel fluttered to the ground, dropped by nerveless fingers as Pyro crumpled to his knees, both hands covering his ears.

The gesture was fruitless, he knew. He knew he couldn't block her out; she was in her head for fuck's sake!

_That's right… my head - MINE! You hear that, Phoenix? _

**_We'll see. You're hurt, and you seem so tired, you poor little dear. Why don't you just rest a while?_ **She returned in a sickeningly sweet voice, mocking the concerned tones of a mother. She sounded like Jenny.

_Fuck off!_

_**I will… for a while. If you let go and do what you want to do.**_

_And what might that be?_

**_Why, kill him of course. The boy – he caused you discomfort. That is not acceptable! Stop holding back your rage and I'll go… for now._**

_No way!_

_**It would be so easy…**_

Bobby's arms were around him by then, stopping him from falling completely to the floor or hitting his head against the doorjamb.

Pyro was shaking violently, scaring the hell out of him.

"John? John, talk to me, man!" he pleaded.

When he received no answer he began to seriously worry. The worry turned to fear as the air turned cold and John's skin began to heat up, just like it had in the dining room earlier.

**_Consume him! Wipe him from existence and I will leave you for while._**

The Phoenix' aggressive hissing in his head mingled nicely with the almost-whimper of the insect beside him as the heat spread to envelop it.

_Bobby!_

Bobby could feel his own skin starting to blister where his bare flesh touched Pyro.

"Johnny, please!" he begged.

_I'm hurting him! Stop it!_

**_But it feels so good, doesn't it? You know it does… this is what you are, Pyro. You don't need him, and you certainly don't need _her!_ Besides, she won't want you anyway… she'll never accept your power!_**

…_shut up!_

_**She'll hate you and fear you.**_

_She wouldn't…_

_**She should. You'll kill her too… just like you killed Dennis, just like you will kill dear Bobby.**_

"No…"

_**Yes.**_

"That's it, John. Come on, you can do this," Bobby panted, hearing his friend speak. He turned into his ice form to cool them both down. Cold had always helped John control his temper and his powers. Maybe it would help?

**_He challenges us… KILL HIM! _**The Phoenix screeched, her outrage reverberating through John's mind like the cry of a great raptor.****

It felt like something broke deep in him and he felt a slow trickle of blood made its way down his face and hit his lips.

_That's IT! Back off, Bitch, I'M driving!_

Gathering every last ounce of control, he forced the heat down, ignoring the outraged screams of the entity in his head. The Phoenix clawed through his brain, trying to hold on to her control. Her claws left rifts in his mind; bleeding fissures revealing the inferno hidden in the depth of his being.

She tried to summon the fire to her, to destroykillmaim_incinerate_ all resistance.

_Oh no you don't! _I_ control fire – not you! _He thought and fiercely pushed her away.

With a final cry of protest she went tumbling into the back of his mind, where he slammed his metaphysical doors in her face.

Blinking rapidly, he turned to look at the being of living ice beside him, who seemed to be painted red.

_Huh?_

"Dude, your eyes are bleeding," his friend said with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

Bobby reverted to his human form and showed John his singed arms.

"I'll live."

"Jesus, Bobby. I'm sorry…"

As he helped Pyro to his feet, Iceman smiled.

"I'm good. So you kicked Phoenix' ass?"

"Oh, yeah… just warming up for Logan," John stated with false cheer.

"You still gonna fight him?"

"Hell yeah!" John exclaimed with an eager smile on his face.

"He's gonna kick your ass," Bobby remarked offhandedly as they walked out through the door.

"Gee, Drake. Thanks for the vote of confidence there…"

"I'm just saying. I've seen you hand to hand. It's pathetic."

"Well one picks things up," John replied mysteriously.

"Sure they do," Bobby said, unconvinced. "Hey, can I watch?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Cool."

**-()-**

Meanwhile, Logan's office:

A clawed fist smashed through the TV screen on the table. With a crackle of electricity, the image of a young and terrified face, superimposed by the words 'Battle Simulation Complete' faded to black.

_Damn it, Chuck! You do _not_ put a child through that alone. What were you _thinking

As he made his way to the Danger Room, Logan, for the first time, felt a distinct lack of regret for the death of a certain Professor.

**-()-**

**TBC**

**A/N: **Okay. I chose not to write what was on that tape… I'll leave you guessing (I'm evil like that). The Danger Room Session should be up next, if I can browbeat the boys into doing what I want for once…

I would really like to hear your comments on this chapter as I had to struggle through it one word at a time! (It was pure creative HELL, let me tell you)

**Again,** please leave reviews that aren't just "Cool, update soon"! While I love getting reviews, those aren't very helpful.

I hope you will take the time to tell me your likes and dislikes. And remember: **a reviewed author is a productive author!**

**Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa- Chapter 17: Lessons Learned**


	17. Lessons Learned

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one.

**A/N: **I'm so sorry! I know this chapter is late like all hell, and I have no excuse except that I suck!

**A huge 'thank you'** goes out to all my fantabulous reviewers (old and new) the feedback for the last chapter was absolutely breathtaking. Thank You!

A special hot, burning, bundle of appreciation goes out to **Peanutbutter And Jelly**. This chapter is for YOU!

So here goes: my first action sequence… phew. (Shudder) be gentle?

-()-

**Previously on Tabula Fucking Rasa:**

"_**He's gonna kick your ass," Bobby remarked offhandedly as they walked out through the door.**_

"_**Gee, Drake. Thanks for the vote of confidence there…"**_

"_**I'm just saying. I've seen you hand to hand. It's pathetic."**_

"_**Well one picks things up," John replied mysteriously.**_

"_**Sure they do," Bobby said, unconvinced.**_

**And now, the continuation:**

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 17: Lessons Learned**.

John sat on a bench in the 'secret' changing room under the Institute, pulling off his shoes and trying not to think of the first time he'd been down there.

He wasn't really succeeding…

Bobby was talking to (at) him, his voice sounding kinda hollow seeing as his head was buried in a closet. He seemed to be looking for something or other.

"I know that Jimmy, one of the younger kids, is about your size, so there should be something in here that will fit you," the cryokinetic was saying. "Ah, here it is!" he exclaimed, holding up a bundle of dark cloth.

"Johnny? You with me?" Iceman asked, noticing the far away look on his friend's face.

"Huh? Yeah, I am." John got up and took the bundle from the other boy

_Kids' clothes…Well, at least they're black._

The pyrokinetic shook out the clothes and found an honest to god traditional martial arts '_gi'_!

Bobby took note of John's silence. Pyro wasn't usually so quiet: in fact he hated lulls in conversation. What was wrong? His friend sat just looking at the two piece outfit and belt with a strange little frown on his face.

"John? You're not nervous or something, are you?" he asked, trying not to sound too concerned – he knew he'd never hear the end of the 'mother-hen' jokes otherwise.

"It's just a practise fight, you know… Logan wouldn't hurt you," he continued, knowing and counting on that any implication of weakness would piss Pyro off.

John snorted, cynically amused. He got up and yanked his shirt off.

"He couldn't hurt me if he wanted to. I'm not nervous, Bobby, just a little… I don't know… distracted I guess," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric as it went over his head.

"Phoenix?"

"Nah. The bitch is down for the count," he said, not feeling even a hint of her presence. She was obviously licking her wounds somewhere in his subconscious.

"That's cool," Bobby said, relieved.

Pyro smirked.

"No, man. It's about to get very, very _hot_, so you'd better scamper off to the observation room."

Bobby groaned at John's bad pun and threw a jockstrap at his head.

"God_dammit_," Pyro yelled. "That'd _better_ not be used!"

"Whatever. Happy ass kicking, jerk," Bobby cheerily replied and walked of laughing.

"Bastard," John mumbled fondly. It felt so damn _good_ to have his friend back! And it felt even better knowing that he'd get a chance to blow off some steam in a few minutes.

With the events of the past few days, he'd constantly felt like he was going to internally combust at any time.

As he put on the _gi_ and started stretching, he mentally went over the pre-fight instructions that had been repeated again and again by his teacher in a dark cave somewhere. There were about as many rules as there were starts in the sky, and his teacher had not rested until he knew them ALL.

He'd spent the better part of a year practising and training five or six hours every day.

In his memory, the words were as clear as day to him, spoken in a rusty, accented voice, sometimes in front of him, sometimes behind, and on a few occasions, above him. Among all the hazy memories from his time with Magneto, these were the clearest, even carrying with them some semblance of emotions: frustration and a strange reluctant fondness.

The fondness had later turned to outright friendship. The development had begun on first discovering their mutual dislike of the other's nationality and the similarities in their accents. John still knew how to speak with an Australian tang and Mort's Cockney accent had been as thick as Kitty's homemade gravy.

"_Rule number fifteen: You never know from where an attack will come, right? An' your opponent might not always be visible, so you've got to _feel_ the surroundings. If you concentrate, you can pick up changes in temperature around you – wha' with your powers an' all - so pay attention, Pyro!"_

John closed his eyes and began attuning himself to the room temperature.

_18.5 degrees centigrade, check. _

He was fairly certain that Logan could _not_ become invisible, but Pyro had learned early on never to trust anything in the Danger Room. Nothing was as it seemed during a simulation, and Wolverine hadn't said whether or not they'd be using the holographic imaging system today.

"_Number 23: Never underestimate an opponent. If you disrespect 'em or believe you'll have an easy victory, you will always, _always_ be sorely disappointed."_

That wasn't going to be a problem. John had _no_ intention of underestimating Logan. Hell, he'd seen him fight at Alcatraz! The man was a combat monster, and John was not so sure he'd even last a minute.

_Damn him for insisting on hand to hand!_

He started stretching his arms and legs, warming his muscles and making sure they weren't going to freeze up from lack of use.

The next point on the list was going to be hard; Logan might be a teacher but he was fiercely competitive and a bit of a sociopath.

"_You're not very big, so most blokes will have an advantage over you when it comes to reach and strength. Keep your eyes open and your mind clear, mate; focus on speed and use the surroundings to your favour. Do _not_ hesitate to exploit their weaknesses for all they're worth!"_

Pyro bent at the waist and touched the tips of his fingers to the floor.

_I _hate_ being short! And everybody and their fucking aunt just have to keep pointing it out, don't they? Because God forbid I should forget…_

Yes. He had now reached the next item on the list: his personal favourite because he never had a problem with that particular rule.

"_Rule number 26: Anger _always_ drowns out fear, Pyro."_

He could do anger.

**-()-**

Logan was waiting in the Danger Room. At the time it resembled nothing more than a plain hall with white walls and a padded floor. He was pacing back and forth on bare feet, trying to work off some of his aggression.

Watching that tape had put him on edge.

Seeing John's first experience with the Danger Room had almost made him call the whole thing off; the kid had been terrified. Logan supposed he would have been too, had it been him in there. John had been completely unprepared, and he hadn't known that what he saw wasn't real. He'd been shoved into the room, the door had been closed, and he had been given only one instruction: "defend your self."

_Fourteen years old, Charles. Fourteen! You don't put a traumatised kid in there with that _thing _and expect him to stay in control._

Logan was fairly sure that that session had been the reason Charles had put up the blocks in the first place. Hell, the kid had even scared the shit out of him!

The speakers placed around the room crackled to life, and a slightly distorted voice sounded.

"Hey, Logan. John will be right out. He just had to warm up and stuff."

The Wolverine looked up at the ceiling from which the observation platform was suspended. Iceman was leaning against the glass walls and smiling a little.

Logan gave the boy a small 'thumbs up' and continued pacing.

_I need to calm down. Deep breaths…_

The doors hissed open.

**-()-**

Pyro stepped into the room and was nearly blinded by its whiteness.

Squinting, he went over to Logan getting a feel for the floor under his feet and looking around for any special features. There were none, as far as he could see, and he breathed a sigh of relief. On the way across the floor he took in the older man's attire. The Wolverine was wearing a pair of sweat pants and a dark T-Shirt. Fingerless gloves were securely strapped to his hands, sporting wooden replicas of the oh-so-familiar claws.

"Hey, man," John greeted and motioned at the gloves. "We doin' armed combat, then?"

"You mind, kid? We can do something else, if you're not up to it," Logan offered.

Pyro gave Wolverine a look. The man sounded almost… gentle?

_What the fuck?_

"Nah, that's cool," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "Armed's fine with me. Any weapon okay?"

Logan nodded and replied with a smirk.

"Go for it, kid. Pick a chainsaw for all I care."

"On our first date?" Pyro responded in a high voice, holding a hand to his chest and batting his lashes in mock femininity. "You dog!"

"Just pick a weapon, Pyro," Logan chuckled.

He noted that the boy seemed calm enough, if a little pale, but that might just be the fluorescent lights working their artificial magic. Logan studied his adversary as Pyro walked over to a depression in the wall and pushed a button.

The wall slid to one side, revealing a long row of practise weapons. John ran his hands over a few of them, stopping for a moment at a _bo_-staff, rubbing one hand over his left shoulder and wincing with a small smile on his face. Finally he picked up a pair of solid arm-length sticks with handles on them.

"What are those?" Logan asked surprised. "You a ninja now or somethin'?"

Weighing the sticks in his hands, idly twirling one of them a few times Pyro smiled.

"Or somethin'," Pyro said. "They're called 'rattan;' they're used for Escrima."

"Huh… okay. You gonna use those?"

"Nah, we did quarterstaff first at 'Terrorist School.' Simpler and all that. I'm learning, though."

Pyro put the rattan back and picked up the _bo_.

"You mind some music?" he asked the older man.

"Nope. No pop, though, or I'll be forced to do ya real harm."

"Cool," John said with a half smile. "Bobby? Put my music on, will ya?" he said loudly, knowing that Iceman would have the microphones on in the room above him.

A steady drum beat started to sound through the Danger Room, slowly gaining in intensity. An almost pleasant female voice mixed with the rhythm and firmly instructed the audience to 'Bind, Torture and Kill'.

"You ready?" Pyro smirked.

"Sure," Logan said, bobbing his head a little to the beat. He didn't much care for the 'lyrics' if you could call them that, but the pace was good for fighting.

As they began circling each other, Logan watched Pyro intensely for any sign of bad balance or residual pain.

The boy was moving fluently enough, though, slowly spinning the staff in front of him. His feet were planted with accuracy, crossing and uncrossing with out loosing balance. He moved like he knew what he was doing.

_He's had some training, then._

"Let's pick this up, huh?" Pyro said as the music changed, the beat became more rapid and an aggressive guitar riff took over from the controlled electronic keyboard.

Logan gave him a feral grin and received one in return.

The animal in him growled in appreciation.

They were circling within five feet of each other when John suddenly moved the other way, breaking the circle. Instinctively Logan reached out with one hand, slicing the air where the boy's head should be with an audible 'hiss'. But Pyro wasn't there. The kid sidestepped and ducked behind him.

The Wolverine felt a stinging line burn across the back of his knees and almost stumbled, as the staff was whipped across his legs from behind. To any other man, it would have been crippling, but other men's tendons weren't like steel wires.

Instead of falling, Logan dove forward, planting his hands on the floor and kicking back with one foot, catching Pyro squarely in the chest.

The pyrokinetic stumbled back a few steps and winced.

_Motherfucker…that hurt! _

Still, John had been kicked harder. The pain faded almost instantly and he brought the staff back in front of him - and not a moment too soon.

Pyro had no time to catch his breath before Logan spun around and came at him, claws leading. He had to work the staff furiously just to keep from being skewered in the first thirty seconds. He really had no experience fighting against claws. And Logan used them like what they were: a part of him.

As he dodged and weaved in the next couple of minutes, he began picking up on Logan's rhythm and technique. Even if every tenth claw-swipe went in, stinging like all _hell_, it was clear that the older man had received no formal training. He relied heavily on his claws, mostly ignoring feet, elbows and so forth.

_I can work with that…_

As he continued to evade, Pyro began formulating a plan. He realised he wasn't going to win this fight. He was out of breath already and he felt badly out of shape.

_Mort would have been pissed. _

Logan, meanwhile, hadn't even broken a sweat and he took every single hit with barely a grimace.

"_Rule number ten: Get moving or get dead!"_

Pyro steeled him self, trying to ignore his fatigue.

_Let's try a change of pace…_

On Logan's next swing, John ducked and stepped to the side, using the claw's path across Logan's field of vision as an optical shield to hide the move.

As he straightened, he 'helped' Logan's arm along its path by kicking the outside of the elbow hard, thereby throwing the Wolverine off balance. He then followed with a spinning kick to the head and then brought his staff down hard on the back of Logan's neck with a 'crack'.

**-()-**

**A few seconds earlier, Logan's POV:**

Logan was having fun.

The kid had some good moves, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Pyro was mobile and dodged in stead of blocking, not letting Wolverine use his superior strength to its full potential.

_This kind of improvement in a year? I'd like to meet the teacher._

He could see that John was tiring, though. The boy was panting and sweating, obviously not used to fighting for long periods of time. He didn't suppose the piece of shrapnel that had been imbedded in his abdomen a few days before helped either…

Logan decided to end it, and went all out on a left handed swing that would have caught the kid across the throat, thereby 'killing' him. But again, Pyro ducked, and then, he wasn't there anymore.

_What the hell?_

His left elbow exploded in pain and he was thrown badly of balance as his arm was flung across his body and to the right. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and then Pyro's heel connected with his jaw. Dazed, he didn't have time to block the quarterstaff as John continued the circular movement with a crushing blow to the back of his head.

For the first time during the fight, Logan found himself on the ground.

He'd was used to taking hard hits, though, so with feline grace he rolled with the force of the blow and ended up ten feet from his opponent, getting to his feet in time to see the boy turn and whirl the _bo_ over his head, ending in a wide stance.

The staff was held in his right hand, supported by the bottom half of his arm, one end pressed to the small of his back and the other thrust to the right.

Logan knew that move from somewhere…

**-()-**

**Pyro's POV:**

John was done. He could feel it. Blood was pumping furiously through his veins, and his legs and arms felt like the joints had been dipped in acid.

But still, he refused to back down. He'd felt an almost primal satisfaction in seeing Logan roll across the floor.

_Score one for me…That's something at least._

Logan was on his feet now, though, and he looked kinda pissed.

Pyro had managed to catch his breath in the few seconds it took Logan to get his bearings again. His deep breaths turned into a gasp, though, as the Wolverine came at him with a roar, running full tilt and jumping into the air when he was a few feet away.

_Oh fuck, here it comes, _John thought in the split second before Logan reached him.

There was no finesse, no technique and no holding back as Logan unceremoniously dropkicked the kid across the room. Both his feet caught Pyro squarely in the head and the pyrokinetic went out like a light.

Before he crashed to the floor, he thought he heard a growling voice:

"Game, set and match, kiddo."

**-()-**

As Pyro dazedly blinked his eyes opened and tried to clear his head, he cursed himself for forgetting Logan's past as a cage fighter.

"Rule number fifty-two: Expect the unexpected," he mumbled and gingerly touched the angry red welt that was already forming on his left cheek.

Logan was squatting a little to his right, gloves in one hand and a borderline concerned look on his face.

"You OK, kid?" he asked gruffly.

John pushed himself into a sitting position and did a quick damage control.

_Limbs: all in working order – head: ouch, double-ouch and damn! _

"Yeah. Just a concussion I think," he responded. "Should be gone in a couple of hours."

"You sure? You don't need to go to the infirmary or anything?" Logan persisted. He'd hit the kid kinda hard, totally forgetting to hold back.

"Are you nuts?!?" John exclaimed. "I'm not goin' down there! Beast'll have my hide."

"True, true," Wolverine conceded and they shared a smile and a chuckle.

Standing up, Logan reached down and gave Pyro a hand up. The boy swayed a bit before finding his balance and leaning on the quarterstaff.

"Those were _some_ moves, Firefly. Who the hell taught you to fight?" he asked. He was so sure he'd seen those moves before, but he couldn't remember where.

Pyro went back to the weapons rack to put away the staff while he thought.

_Should I tell him? What harm could it do?_

"Mort taught me," he finally said, his back still turned.

"Mort? That a mutant name?" Logan didn't think he'd ever heard of the guy.

"Well he _is_ a mutant," Pyro answered. "I think you've met him? Green guy, kinda English?"

Now _that_ rang a definite bell!

"You learned to fight from _Toad_?" Logan said, surprised.

He had seen the Brotherhood member go over the edge of the island and crash into the water. He'd never thought of him again. Storm had fried that guy like a steak and Logan hadn't even considered that he might have survived.

"I thought he was dead," he mumbled. Turning back to John he asked: "Why wasn't he at Alcatraz? That guy could _fight_!"

The pyrokinetic turned back to the Wolverine, a blank look on his face that didn't match the near resentment in his eyes.

"Not dead, no," he started. "But after Liberty Island he was removed from active duty. His night vision was shot all to hell and he had this epilepsy thing - he got seizures sometimes. He took over combat training instead, just to keep busy, you know? I think he stayed with Mystique… Anyway, he mostly kept away from everybody."

_Everybody but me and her, anyway._

John shrugged as if to say 'no big deal', even if it was. He remembered hearing from Rogue about the fight at Liberty Island, and how Toad had almost kicked Storm's ass. To see someone like him, a master of his art, reduced to teaching recruits the basics of hand to hand combat had been a real shocker, in a 'Memento Mori' kind of way. He knew from Mystique that Toad had been one of the first mutants to join Magneto's cause, and still, he had been shoved aside and practically discarded.

He knew that Mortimer had been hurt by the rejection. Hell, he would have been too. At first, Toad hadn't liked Pyro at all, because he'd basically taken over his position in the organisation, but they'd worked it out and had become something resembling friends in the end.

_I wonder what he's doing now… He didn't really have anywhere else to go._

**-()-**

**Somewhere in New York:**

A hooded figure pushed his way through the swing doors to the 'N0sp00n' Internet café. His hands were shoved deep into the hoodie he was wearing and his face was thoroughly obfuscated by a scarf and sunglasses.

Behind him walked a tall, beautiful woman with black hair and striking blue eyes.

Together they went up to the desk and rang a bell.

Out from the backroom walked a young man with platinum blonde hair, streaked with a psychedelic green. He was wearing a 'nice-to-do-business-with-you' face and was about to utter his usual "What can I do ya' for?" when he looked - really looked - at them. A look of recognition appeared on his face and he instantly waved them though the door marked 'private.'

Once inside, he closed the door and watched as they both dropped their disguises. He eyed the suddenly more provocative female, and gave a small chuckle.

"So it's true; it's not permanent. It's good to see you both."

The woman nodded politely while her male companion walked over to the window, closed it, and shut the blinds a bit more, his burn-scarred hands fumbling with the latch.

"Right back at ya', mate," he said to the green-and-white haired mutant.

"Cypher," Mystique said. "We need to contact Pyro. _He's_ back."

**TBC**

**A/N:** Finally, the fight sequence, and the reintroduction of some old friends. I'm not so sure I'm pleased with the way it turned out… Writing fight scenes is HARD!

I've never actually written action before, and I'd really love to hear what you think! PLEASE take the time to review!

The 'gi' is a two piece martial arts outfit of linen, usually. It consists of loose drawstring pants, a tied long sleeved top and a broad belt.

The 'bo' is a quarterstaff.

The 'rattan' are basically two sticks with handles

'Escrima' is a totally cool kind of martial arts that is practiced in the Philippines or thereabouts (I think)… For examples, check out Stargate: Atlantis.

'Memento Mori' is Latin for 'remember that you will die' or 'remember death' or something of the sort.

The quarterstaff move is supposed to be identical to Toad's cool little bit after he shoved Storm down the elevator in X-men 1.

I hoped you enjoyed the chapter, but I guess there's only one way I'll know… **REVIEW!**

**Peace Out**

**Ebon Hush**

**Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa – Chapter 18: What Goes Around. **


	18. What Goes Around

**Disclaimer: **See chapter uno.

**A/N: **Well, colour me flattered. Phew! The sheer amount of reviews for the last chapter actually kicked me into gear! (Sorry for the delay by the way, this chapter scared me)

I'd like to take the time to thank all of you who reviewed! You really make the process worth while!

Now…I know there is something you've all been holding your breaths for, and here it is!

**Previously on Tabula Fucking Rasa:**

'_Oh untouchable/ Would that I were a ray of morning's first fire / to caress thy hair with gentle fingers / bringing about the gleam of burnished bronze, silver lin'd / like distant clouds, illuminated by sudden gleams / would that I could bring about lightning in thine eyes'_

**And now, the continuation:**

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 18: What Goes Around**

Outside the Downstairs Changing Room. 9.06PM.

He was working out one of the many kinks in his neck that Logan's kick had left as he exited the changing room.

"Goddamn psycho kicks like a frickin' freight train!" he was mumbling.

His hair was still kinda wet from the showers, where he taken his diabolical revenge on the Wolverine by unrepentantly stealing all the hot water.

_Serves him right_, he thought pettily.

Pyro chuckled.

That was the sound that greeted Bobby as he came down from the observation room to pick up his friend. He'd passed a growling Logan on the way.

John's face was a grimace of discomfort but for the typical smirk.

"So… pain's funny, huh?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. He'd be damned, if he understood even a fraction of what went on in Pyro's head sometimes. It was like the guy was wired differently from everyone else he knew.

"Nah," the pyrokinetic answered, wiping a bit of water out of his eyes. "I just monopolised the hot water supply, and Logan wasn't all that pleased."

"Aww… you could have waited for me, man," Bobby said with a childish pout. "Imagine his face if I'd frozen the pipes!"

The two teenage boys shared a laugh.

"Oh, fuck! That would have been priceless," John chuckled, "but I bet he wouldn't have been half as inventive with the curses as Scott was that one time…" His smile faded a little at the thought.

_We miss him…_Jean whispered though his mind.

"Anyway," he continued, plastering a new smile on his face. "Did that count as a bona fide ass kicking?"

"Not really," Bobby answered reluctantly. He had been duly impressed, but he'd be _damned_ if he admitted it.

'_One picks up a thing or two' my ass!_

"Did you really learn to fight from Toad?" he asked.

"Yeah," John stated. "He's an okay guy when you get over the green bit… and the fact that he's a Brit."

"I suppose," Bobby said. He wouldn't really know.

"I just don't get why you didn't take those moves for a spin at Alcatraz, that's all," he continued. "You would have wiped the proverbial floor with me!"

"That wasn't about winning," John said with a strangely closed look on his face.

"What _was_ it about then?" Bobby asked, sounding curious.

Pyro watched his friend intently. "You really wanna know?"

"Yeah, I really do."

"It's not pretty…" he warned.

_No… you really don't…_

Bobby seemed to have read his mind.

"Pyro, I want to know. Tell me," he insisted.

John sighed.

"It was about proving that I was just as good a mutant as you – better, even… that I'd always been better."

Bobby looked confused.

"I don't get it. Why would you need to prove that?" Bobby honestly didn't get it. Sure they had competed in the past, but…

John smiled bitterly.

"Spoken like someone who's never felt inferior."

"I've never thought you were inferior…" Bobby protested.

"_I_ have."

"Why would you think that?" Bobby asked, honestly perplexed.

To him, John had always been the epitome of 'mutant': proud of his gift, powerful and self assured. At first Bobby had been intimidated by his friend. John always seemed so strong. He never asked for anything from anyone; never sought validation. He had such control – such complete mastery of his element.

Even if the other mutant was younger than him, it was those qualities that had always made Bobby think of him as a kind of older brother.

"Well," John started with a small shake of his head, "look who I was stupid enough to measure myself against."

He motioned with one hand in Bobby's direction.

"Me? But your power's way better than mine!" Iceman exclaimed.

Pyro shook his head in denial before his friend had finished speaking.

"Yeah you- the perfect Bobby Drake: a rich, popular guy with a perfect girlfriend and a neat gift that wasn't likely to light stuff up when he got angry." He shuddered. "You think my power's better than yours? You never had to worry about burning people to a cinder when you got angry… Fire's only good for one thing, really: fighting and killing."

"But you _love_ your fire!"

"Yeah," Pyro conceded. "And what does that make me?"

**She'll hate you and fear you. You'll kill her too…**

Bobby didn't know what to say.

The two boys looked at each other, each trying desperately to think of something, anything that would make the ugly reality go away.

Pyro found his voice first.

"I had nothing else. You had everything, and I'd _never_ had anything else. I don't know what else to tell you." He shook his head, almost sadly.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," he mumbled

_For everything…_

Iceman looked at his friend in shock. He'd never ever expected an apology. Pyro didn't apologise, he justified.

"Yeah… me too," he said haltingly, but meaning every word.

_I'm sorry I didn't get it._

Suddenly, without any warning, John swayed on his feet and reached out for the support of the wall. He missed and stumbled into Bobby, who instinctively grabbed him by the shoulders and supported his weight.

"You okay, bro?" he asked, concerned. "Logan must have hit you harder than you thought, huh?"

John shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. Images and emotions were flitting through his mind: a tilting staircase, a pair of arms… memories of a city shrouded in winter, colourful minarets… a small girl smiling, people singing in Russian and _powersoliditystrengthlonging._

"Rogue!" he gasped and pushed away from Iceman. "Something's happened… Let's go!"

Both boys took of down the corridor.

**-()-**

They made it to the underground infirmary just in time to see Beast and Storm help a staggered Colossus onto the examination table. Black veins were still visible on his face - a glaring testimony.

"I'll need a saline IV and some supplements," Hank was saying.

"What happened?" Bobby inquired, alarmed.

At the same time, John asked: "Where is she?"

He knew perfectly well what had happened. He'd seen it.

Storm's head whipped around to look at the two out of breath young men.

"Rogue stumbled down the stairs, Piotr caught her. I don't know where she is, she ran. Could you help Doctor McCoy, John? John?"

She was talking to thin air, as Pyro was already heading down the corridor towards the elevator, leaving Bobby to face the two adults alone.

_Oh, Rogue, _the cryokinetic thought. _Please be alright!_

"I'll help, Mister McCoy," he said and went over to the supply cabinet.

**-()-**

**Girls' Dormitories two minutes later:**

"Rogue. Please open the door. Let me help…"

Logan was futilely banging at the heavy oak door to Rogue's room. He'd seen the incident unfold right in front of him, just as he'd been stepping off the elevator a few minutes ago. He'd watched in stony shock as the veins on Colossus' face had stood out and the man of steel had crumpled to the ground.

Rogue had been up and running before he'd been able to pull himself together enough to move - to stop her. So there he was, trying to make her let him in so he could…

_So I can what? Give her a _hug_? That'll help._

"She in there?" a voice asked behind him, and he turned to see a damp and out of breath Pyro move down the hall towards him. The young man had just pushed his way through a throng of people gathered at the foot of the staircase. Everybody seemed to be curious, but no one had wanted to be the first to go up the stairs, it seemed.

_Goddamn pack mentality…Sheep all of them! _his mind snarled, Pyro and Phoenix in perfect agreement for once.

"Yeah, she is. You heard?" Logan asked, his voice gruff.

"Not so much. I saw it… somehow."

"Huh…" Logan mumbled, perplexed. What was he supposed to say? The kids around him got more and more strange every single day.

"Yeah," Pyro agreed. The boy didn't seem to know what the hell was going on either, which did nothing to reassure the Wolverine.

"She won't open the door," Logan said, stating the obvious. The Canadian scratched his head and sent a measuring look in the direction of the pyrokinetic.

"Maybe _you_ can talk some sense into the girl, Firefly, 'cos she sure as hell won't talk to me."

John nodded. "I'll try. Give me some space will you?" He gestured to the stairs.

Wolverine got both the hint and the underlying plea.

"I'll keep 'em off your back. Just… make sure she's alright."

Pyro shook his head. "She's not, Logan. How could she be?"

Logan cast one last glance at the door and said sadly: "Yeah I know."

As the older mutant headed to the stairs, John turned his attention to the door that stood between him and the broken girl inside.

_Go away! _he thought at it, willing the lock to just… _not be there_.

The brass device glowed, turning an infernal red, before it unravelled, atom by atom. With a slight creaking the door swung open.

The room was dark.

"Rogue? Are you in here?" He asked, just to alert her to his presence.

He stepped onto the chocolate brown carpeting and squinted through the gloom. Her bed was empty, but he could hear her breathing. It was erratic and sounded like she was choking back tears.

"Please… go away, John," a low voice called, full of bone-deep pain, weariness and defeat.

He didn't even consider doing as she asked, as he moved in the general direction of her voice. He traced it to the far side of her green-sheathed bed where she was sitting curled up on the floor, her knees to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. The wet lines of tears were clear on her cheeks, reflecting a sliver of moonlight streaming through a gap in the heavy curtains.

"Rogue, honey," he started. "I just…heard."

"Please," she stuttered. "Don't come any closer – I don't wanna hurt ya, Johnny."

He kneeled down a foot from her and felt a small twinge of emotional anguish as she flinched away from him.

_Don't do this, baby…_

"Marie…"

"Just go _away_!" she cried, panicked, trying to make herself even smaller.

She looked so broken; it made him feel like crying.

He didn't like that feeling. At all.

"Goddamnit, Rogue. This is _not_ the end of the world!" he hissed, trying to bring a glimpse of life back in her eyes.

_Get angry! Yell at me… hit me, but God please stop crying!_

Her wounded eyes rose to meet his, tears still flowing freely.

"How can you say that? I can kill ya just by touchin' ya," she sobbed, her accent coming through clearly.

A part of her wanted to reach out to him for comfort, but memories of Piotr's shocked face made her gloved hand pause before it had gone more than a few inches.

Pyro saw her half gesture.

"No, you can't," he said, moving closer and sitting down on the floor beside her. The moonlight streaming through the paned glass cast fey shadows across both their features, making the whole scene seem dreamlike and unreal.

"Are ya saying I can't hurt ya?" She sounded doubtful and bitter, as if she knew better.

"I'm not saying that," he answered anyway. "I know you can."

_I think you're the _only_ one who can, really…_

"But this," he reached out and took her hand, trying to ignore her attempt to pull away from him, "this can't."

Rogue sighed, giving up trying to explain. John had always been so sure that he was right about every single thing he deigned to have an opinion on, and as far as she could see this was no different. There really was no point in stopping him, once he wanted to make a point.

Besides, his hand was warm and she felt so cold.

His fingers were slowly stroking her wrist through the glove and she suddenly had a need to feel his skin instead. She couldn't help remembering what it had felt like, that day in Boston, when he had been a part of her; indistinguishable from her. She needed that closeness to come back. She was suddenly desperate to drown out the voices in her head - Piotr's memories screaming at her in a language she didn't understand.

She needed something familiar; she needed Pyro back.

But unfortunately, along with the powerful memories of his fire coursing through her veins, came the recollection of his face painted with black veins and the sound of his pained gasp as she stole his essence and killed what he had created.

"It did," she whispered. "It hurt you."

"Yeah… it did." John swallowed. He remembered very well the feeling of being violated and stripped of his strength. He remembered thinking: 'You could have just _asked_.'

Seeing his expression, she choked back a new stream of tears. "You see? I…"

"Rogue," he interrupted her. "That was then. You can't hurt me anymore."

"Oh, really? That may very well be, but you're just _one_ person, John. Doesn't change the fact that I'm poison… I destroy everything I touch."

Hearing her speak like that; saying those words, pissed him off. To him, her power was the ultimate defence – something to be happy for. No one would ever… He'd long since lost count of how often he had wished _he_ was untouchable.

Pyro grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, none too gently. "Look at me, Rogue!" he said, his voice low and intense. "I'M here! Yes I'm only _one_ person, but you can't hurt me and I will _not_ see you do this to yourself."

She just kept shaking her head, back and forth, back and forth.

"Johnny… I can't do this again."

His heart broke a little at her half choked admission. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her tear-soaked hair back from her face.

"Shh… yes you can. I'll help you, I promise. You're not alone in this, Rogue," he whispered.

Reaching down, he grasped one of her hands in his and started peeling back the green satin covering her fingers. Rogue didn't protest; she felt as though all the fight, all the fire had left her. She felt so _tired_ of it all… so cold.

"Please…" she whimpered, not really sure what she was asking for. She buried her head under his chin, feeling dampness on the T-shirt he was wearing. Whether it was from his skin or her tears she didn't know. It was just another part of them that seemed to overlap – another point that connected them.

As first one glove and then the other slid to the floor with a subtle whisper of smooth fabric, she felt his fingers interlace with hers. Almost immediately, a slow stream of consciousness started flowing through her, starting where their skin touched.

"John!" she gasped, trying to pull her hand away from his.

_No no no… I'm doing it again!_

Pyro felt the connection open as well, and gripped her hand harder, squeezing her fingers to the point of discomfort.

"Just _feel_, Rogue. It's okay," he said, his voice certain, unafraid.

She did.

She felt.

A steady wave of warmth moved up her arm and spread through her body, leaving her panting softly. It was _nothing_ like the inferno-like heat she had experienced in Boston.

There was none of the rage, none of the _painangerfurymania_ of before, only a gentle flicker of a thousand candles. What she had thought to be emotions, only hinted of in Boston, revealed it self to her for what it really was:

_Fire_.

It seemed to speak to her, the way she imagined it must speak to John.

She had heard its voice before, she realised, on that front porch a lifetime ago. Back then, it had been a wild elemental scream – the need to _burn_. She hadn't been able to process the sheer fury of it all, back then. Words had drowned in the savage cry of destruction, but she could hear them now: gentle but fierce; the _other_ part of fire.

_I want to keep you warm. I want to be your ward. I want to light your path. I want to be near you and chase the darkness away. _

She looked down at their linked hands in wonder.

"John…" she whispered in awe.

"I know," he simply said. "This is yours, too, Rogue."

She went to her knees and turned to look at him, her hand never leaving his.

As their eyes met, sealing the link between them, Pyro slowly brought her fingertips to his lips, where they lingered in the softest of touches. She felt his words as much as heard them as he said: "You can't take anything from me that isn't already yours, Marie."

As if in slow motion, she brought her other hand up to touch his face. There was nothing but peace there. As their faces neared each other, two minds melded into one perfect entity. There was no Phoenix, no foreign thoughts, just them. It seemed the whole world had gone silent but for their breathing and the steady flow of memories, painful and beautiful.

"It's always been yours…" the words ghosted over her face, closing the last bit of distance between them.

As their lips met, she felt the last bit of resistance melt away and she closed her eyes, finally able to just _feel_. The lingering cold dissipated and her soul breathed a sigh of release.

For the first time since he woke up, the pressure was gone. Her touch was like a whirlpool, a singularity eating away at the clamouring in his brain. The points of connection between them had become an event horizon, and what went beyond it simply melted away.

White noise trickled through his mind like warm water over a cold sore, soothing but stinging for its strangeness. Her skin was cool and soft, everything he wasn't.

Nothing else seemed to matter…

They were one. There was no 'Pyro' or 'Rogue', there was no 'her' or 'him'. There was only 'them'.

_Mine._

_Yours._

_I love you._

Neither of them was sure whose thought it was; neither really cared.

**-()-**

Throughout the mansion spread the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

Logan breathed deeply and smiled.

It smelled like safety.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Yes! The KISS, finally… I swear I had a hell of a time trying _not_ to make it too 'Barbara Cartland'esque.

I only have **one** way of knowing if I succeeded… **REVIEW!** (Pretty please?)

If I thought action was hard, then I must say, romance just kills me! I had all these really neat pictures in my head, but on paper they turned out cheesy and/or craptastic. (Whimper) I need a hug.

Please tell me what you think.

Peace Out

**Ebon Hush**

Next Time on Tabula Fucking Rasa – **Chapter 19: True Colours**.


	19. True Colours

**Disclaimer: **See chapter… oh you get the picture!

**A/N: **Umm… Yeah… Long time no see? (Ducks rotting fruit).

I read a fic the other day by DarkClerk, and wouldn't you know it, I was suddenly compelled to write. (DarkClerk basically claimed to be more inspired to update if I did, so I thought I'd better.)

This chapter might be a bit forced, but I needed to get on with it, so yeah.

Here we go; read and enjoy (and review!)

**Tabula Fucking Rasa.**

**Chapter 19: True Colours**

The world was suspended in silence. It was that time of the night; when the sun was beginning to consider rising, putting an end to the blue light of the moon.

Still, moonbeams painted the inside of Rogue's room in gentle stripes of silver light, cutting across the foot of the bed where they lay together. To him, it seemed that the only thing moving was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed softly.

He could already feel the sun nearing the horizon. It made him restless-

His hand rested at the small of her back, where her top had bunched up a little, and her head rested on his shoulder, auburn hair fanning out over his chest. She had shyly pulled his shirt off with a mumbled 'it's wet', and he hadn't even thought about offering a protest as her hand had landed over the small white scar on his abdomen.

She had fallen asleep three or four hours ago, a soft little smile on her face, as he contentedly stroked her hair.

With every kiss that had been exchanged between them, a little more of the fear and worry had left him. He hadn't been able to sleep, though, finding the sudden stillness in him somewhat disconcerting. He felt strangely… happy.

_**You don't deserve it! **_A sibilant voice hissed through his mind bitterly, breaking the still surface of his comfortably numb mind.

He sighed.

_Just what I need now: a petulant super-creature to make this moment perfect._

"Oh, shut up…" he whispered. "Why are you always so pissed?"

He realised then that he didn't actually _know_ why. The near-epiphany piqued his curiosity, and besides, right then, he felt damn well near invincible. Holding on to that feeling, he continued.

_Why? Tell me._

A short pause ensued. When the Phoenix finally answered it was with a tone of undeniable incredulity.

_**You want to know **_**my**_** mind? **_The entity in his mind snarled.

_Yes, I do. Why do you hate the world so much? Isn't there anything you actually _like

_**Power, **_the Phoenix hissed in a strangely matter-of-fact tone.

He snorted, and gently disentangled himself from Rogue's arms. If he was going to have this conversation it was going to be in private, and he _was_ going to have it; it was long overdue, after all. The present circumstances considered, he needed to resolve the fucked up mess that was his mind – both for his sake and Rogue's. He finally had what he wanted, and he'd be damned if he let anything get in the way, be it all-powerful mutant spirits or his own past mistakes.

Rogue didn't even stir as he moved off the bed, which was no wonder considering the day she'd had.

He pulled the comforter up to cover her sleeping form; to keep the pre-dawn cold at bay, planted a soft kiss on her forehead and left the room. He didn't bother pulling on his shirt, instead opting for warming the air around him with a thought.

As he walked down the hallway, heading for the stairs, he tried to formulate a reply for the Phoenix.

_You only care for power? Then why did you choose sides? Why join Magneto if you just wanted power - you must have known he was going to loose?_ he asked her. In the weeks prior to her 'death', Jean had been having premonition-like episodes, he knew. He'd heard Storm and her talk in the campsite in the woods near Alkali.

_**Yes, I knew,**_ Phoenix answered him. Her voice for once was calm and almost Zen-like.

_I don't get it, _he thought. _You could have stayed out of it. _

_**No, I could not. Jean wanted to save her 'friends', **_she sneered.

_What does that have to do with it?_

He found it hard to follow her strange leap of logic.

His sleep addled confusion seemed to amuse her.

_**I will tell you,**_ she said in the caring tones of a mother, whose slow child had finally asked a pertinent question.

A tidal wave of memories washed over him then, forcing him to his knees in the corridor. He ended up sitting with his back to the wall while images flashed across his retinas, for once not painful, but still overwhelming.

"Jesus, woman," he mumbled to himself trying to keep a sudden burst of vertigo at bay.

_Huh… seems she's really in the mood to 'talk'._

_**Yes, child, so pay attention!**_

**He was in her head – he was the Phoenix. **

**Together they blinked into consciousness as Jean tapped into her buried powers to defeat the brainwashed Scott, thereby breaking through Xavier's carefully constructed barriers in her mind. **

**As Doctor Grey blocked the neon red waves of Cyclops' optical blast, they experienced together a sudden awareness of a future unknown to their 'hostess' – certain and uncertain: Jean's imminent death, Scott's sorrow and, strangely enough, John leaving the mansion a few weeks later.**

**With the near-future vision of the thundering wall of water, they as one felt the surge of panic that came with the realisation that 'they' were in fact mortal. **

**Pyro looked through the Phoenix's mind's eye as the it sent out a frantic tendril of power, looking, searching, and finally reaching a black jet plane, where three teenagers sat.**

_**There…**_** her voice whispered in satisfaction. **_**Now for the spark to start the inferno…**_

"**You should be out there with them, Pyro… you're not a child anymore. God among insects… Do you always do as you're told?" she hissed.**

**His thoughts had been **_**her**_** words, Pyro realised; planted and allowed to grow.**

_Wait. YOU made me leave?_

_**You would have left anyway, little Firestarter. I merely directed you where I could find you again.**_

_Why?_

_**You already know why. Because **_**you**_** could where she could not. All it took was a little more training, and Magneto could give you that. Of course, I didn't count on you being so damn stubborn.**_

_You were planning to take over my mind completely, weren't you?_

_**Of course. **_**Her words held no remorse or guilt, just fact.**

_Well, that's not gonna happen, Phoenix. So I guess we're both fucked now. We're stuck. _

_**Not necessarily, Pyro. I propose a deal.**_

_Keep… talking._

_**A meld. We become one. You stop trying to push me down, and I stop trying to take control…Surely you're tired of the pain?**_

_Nu-uh… No thanks. I don't particularly like my brain on you. _

_**Foolish child! Don't you see? We will tear each other apart!**_

_I know. _

_**Do you really want to die? Now that you've found **_**her?**

An image of Rogue's sleeping form flashed across his awareness.

_No, I really don't, _he answered._ Listen…I have another idea that might work._

_**Continue…**_

_Well, you like power, yeah? And you like being in control? _

_**I do…**_

Taking care to make the details clear, he offered her his compromise. John was more than aware that he was essentially making a deal with his own personal devil. He showed her his plans, firmly suppressing any seeds of doubt or fear for the future and the path he was committing to. This had to work.

Finally, after what seemed like hours to him, he closed his eyes and waited for the verdict.

_So? Do we have a deal?_

_**Yess…**_

**-()-**

A rather beat-up blue van cruised down the highway, headed away from New York City. The two people in it seemed just as nondescript as their conveyance: A middle aged man wearing a faded blue T-shirt and jeans sat in the worn down passenger seat, leaned back with his knees tucked against the dashboard and casually fiddling with a cell phone. To his left in the driver's seat sat a shorter man, wearing a dark hooded sweat shirt and fingerless gloves. Both wore sunglasses.

The driver looked at the taller man out of the corner of his eye.

"Strange to think we used to travel in style, huh, luv?" he smiled, noticing the other's cramped up pose and dour look. "This ain't exactly an 'elicopter…" he continued, almost apologetically.

"No, it certainly isn't. But it's much less noticeable," the passenger replied with a smirk. "Don't worry about it, Mort. As long as we get there before Him."

"We will. I just can't figure out what would possess the boy to go back to those leather worshippin' wankers! All this time he's been alive, an' he didn' even bother calling in! I thought we'd taught him better…"

Mystique turned her head to look at her long time comrade. Mort was drumming his scarred fingers against the wheel anxiously. She knew that Toad cared about the boy, and to be frank, so did she. All Cypher had been able to tell them, was that a severely wounded mutant had been removed from Alcatraz by the X-men and transported to the Institute. The identity of the individual hadn't been confirmed before one of their contacts had tracked down the doctor in charge at Alcatraz at the time and done some creative 'persuasion'.

"He'll have a good reason, Mortimer," she said with a small smirk at her friend's almost parental worrying. "One way or the other, we'll know by tomorrow."

Toad turned back to the road with a grumble of "he'd better not get fresh with me, or I'll…"

Reaching over the bench seat, she patted his shoulder and reassured him: "When did he ever get 'fresh' with you, apart from the first time, Mortimer? The boy knows better. We'll be there by five PM and make contact by nightfall. Worrying isn't going to help…"

"Yeah, I know. I jus' miss the little blighter is all. Me blood-pressure's been almost regular of late – it's freaky."

A non-mutant passenger would have been shocked to hear the bubbling female laughter that erupted from the tall man's throat.

**-()-**

Morning came with a heavy rain shower. Rogue woke up to the sound of fat drops hitting the panes of her bay windows. She dazedly sat up in bed, rubbing one eye with a bare fist. At first she was disoriented finding out that she was still in her day clothes, but then she remembered.

She couldn't quite suppress the smile that made its way onto her face at the thought of the night before. She had never felt anything like that before: the feeling of utter acceptance and closeness she had gotten from John was everything she had ever wished for.

The smile grew into a full blown grin as she remembered the kisses they had shared. She could still feel the warmth on her lips, like sunlight. Sliding out of her bed, she ran her hand over the covers, still, strangely, retaining the body heat he had left there.

_He can't have been up for long, _she reasoned.

She took a shower, whistling happily and running over her plans for the day.

_Apologise to Piotr, correct those essays, go over the math assignment with Bobby… Oh my god! Bobby! _

Her good mood evaporated like dew in the sun, and she put down the blow dryer. Sure her ex- boyfriend had seemed okay with the growing closeness between her and John, but how would he react to them being together? _Where_ they even together?

A small tendril of doubt made its way into her mind, burrowing deep and making it self comfortable.

_What if I got it wrong? For Pete's sake, John always get caught up in the heat of the moment. _

Suddenly, she didn't feel like leaving the room and facing the day. But then she remembered. The feel of his thoughts intertwining with hers. The almost desperate need to be accepted, she had felt from him.

_I'm an idiot, _she thought with a wry shake of her head as she started brushing her hair. _John loves me. _

"John loves me. _John Allerdyce_ is in love with me…" she whispered with an incredulous smile. It seemed so unreal.

Wiping the mist from the mirror and taking a look at herself, she shook her head wryly.

_Listen to you, Marie. You sound just like a… a teenager._

Suddenly a face appeared behind hers in the mirror and she let out a very undignified screech.

"Kitty! My GOD, you gave me such a start!" she gasped, trying to stave off a heart attack by pressing her hand to her chest.

The young brunette stepped all the way through the door and flipped her ponytail behind her shoulder.

"Hot damn, girl… Could your shower _be_ anymore humid? It's screwing with my 'do."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Kitty. Call it karma."

"Huh?"

"You know…karma. Retribution for not knocking before you barge in," she said pointedly.

"Oh," the younger girl muttered. "I'm sorry; I just wanted to know… are you okay?"

Rogue felt a small stab of honest to God fondness for the younger girl. For all her vapid comments and teenage twittering, Kitty actually was a good friend to those she cared for.

"Ah, don't cha worry about me, hun. I'm fine," she smiled.

"I just _bet_ you are," Shadowcat smirked. "Say… John was sure in hurry to get here last night. He kiss and make it better?"

This comment threw Rogue for a moment. How could Kitty know about his immunity? Had she been spying on them?

"No need for the shock, Rogue," Shadowcat said, noticing her friend's strange serious look. "I was just kid… Oh. My. GOD! He did, didn't he? He KISSED you!" she squealed.

Kitty waited about half a second for an answer from the still speechless girl; then she seemed to get a clue.

"Wait. How did he do that? He isn't in the infirmary, is he? Did you kill him?"

"Nonono… take it easy, Kitty," Rogue interrupted. "Nobody died, and no one is in the infirmary; well, except for Piotr. John is… well, he's immune to me. He had a power surge and I _can't hurt him_," she exclaimed joyfully. "Can ya believe it?"

"Uhh… Yeah," Kitty replied with a 'well duh' roll of her eyes.

"You can?"

_It's too early in the morning for a trip to Kitty-Land _she thought, wearily. The upbeat girl was just a bit too… Kitty at times.

"Tchyeah!" Shadowcat exclaimed. "You two were like… meant to be or somethin'."

"Really?"

"Look, Marie, _babe_," she started, stealing John's nickname for Rogue. "You have that whole 'Good Girl, Bad Boy' vibe goin' on."

"God, you are so immature!" Rogue said with exasperation, blushing a little, and headed for the door, while wrapping an elastic band around her ponytail.

"And you're totally in love with Pyro, girl… Did you sleep with him?" she asked with an impish smirk.

"Kitty!"

"Well, did you?"

"Yes, but that's not the…"

"Oh. My. God! YOU SLEPT WITH PYRO?" 

"Shh… Kitty, please. Not like that… we just sl…" she opened the door and came face to face with her very shocked-looking ex boyfriend.

"Bobby," she said, voice completely blank with shock. 

"Hey, Rogue," he said calmly.

"Bobby… I," she stuttered.

"Kitty, could you excuse us?" he asked, his voice amiable and even.

"Uh, yeah. Sure… See ya, Rogue," Kitty said meekly.

With a sympathetic look and a mouthed 'sorry' behind Bobby's back she left the room.

Rogue turned to her dear friend with near pleading eyes. They seemed to scream: 'please don't hate me' and that was exactly what she said:

"Bobby, god… please don't hate me. I didn't mean for you to find out like this…"

Iceman shook his head and held up his hands as if to say 'whoa.'

"Last night, right? Or earlier?" he asked simply.

"Last night," she conceded.

"It's okay, Rogue, really," he said. "You belong together and I know for a fact that John is crazy about you."

Rogue was ready to try to explain, to apologise, to grovel, basically, so his words took her completely by surprise. Was there no end to this man's ability to be a good guy?

It took a while for her to form anything resembling a coherent sentence. What came out of her mouth was:

"You knew?"

_Wait a minute…_

"He is?"

Bobby couldn't help but smile a little at her shocked expression.

"Yeah, he is. He told me - last night actually."

"He _told_ you? Out loud?"

The two shared a look of amusement. It was, after all common knowledge for all those initiated into the secret world that was St John Allerdyce's mentality that this was highly irregular behaviour. They were more than aware of the significance of Mr 'will eat kangaroo droppings before admitting emotion' saying, or even alluding to having feelings.

"Yeah… says somethin' about his sincerity, right?"

"John told you he cared for me, out loud…"

"That he loved you actually."

"Out loud…"

"Shocking, I know."

They shared a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. As their mirth subsided, Rogue just had to ask.

"So… you're okay with this?" She looked into the eyes of the man she had loved for a year; the guy she at one point had thought was 'the one.'

Bobby took a moment to think, not wanting to skip over the importance of the question. "Yeah. I mean, it's a bit soon, but I think it's been a long time in the making."

"I guess…" she said, not entirely comfortable with the 'too soon' bit, but not really able to disagree.

Silence ensued.

Both of them were struck with the poignancy of the situation. This was an end. _The_ End actually. The end of the chapter of their life where they had been the main characters… together.

Bobby was torn. A part of him was kinda jealous; John was now in possession of everything Bobby had wanted.

His mind flashed back to the days where _he_ had been the one with the world at his feet, but now…

_How the tables have turned…_

His bout of melancholy came to an abrupt end with the memory of John's expression as they had passed each other in the hall downstairs a few minutes earlier that morning. His friend had looked – not exactly happy- no it was more than that… he had looked at peace; kinda Zen-like, actually.

In Bobby's mind, the change Pyro had gone through in those past few days was so profound that even the most un-empathic individual would have to sit up and take notice. It made it all worth it: all the discomfort, all the doubt – all of it.

Deciding that the awkwardness of the situation had risen to an appropriately uncomfortable level, Bobby smiled brightly and picked up Rogue's bag from her office chair.

_Oh, hell… they deserve this!_

"So, maths. What did you get for number four?" he asked, placing a friendly arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

"Well…"

**-()-**

The day had passed in relative peace. Classes were of course a bitch, but at least the hostility had somewhat lessened. Even if John hadn't had any idea as to why, Bobby had been bold enough to suggest that maybe people had heard about the fight the night before. His theory was confirmed for him when he heard Jubilee ask Iceman if it was really true that Pyro had survived a one-on-one with Logan over dinner.

"They won't be lining up to kick your ass now…I mean. There's not a scratch on you! They're probably terrified of you now… Or they think you're sleeping with the gym teacher…"

"Oh, shut up, Frosty," had been the terse reply.

The three friends had hung out after classes, walking around outside and enjoying the post-rain storm freshness in the air.

At first, John and Rogue had been leery about showing any kind of affection with Bobby there, but that had ended with Bobby coining the ever popular Johnism "Oh get _over_ your selves already," and none too gently elbowing Pyro in the ribs.

After that, the evening had been a smashing success and Rogue had been practically glowing with joy. They had separated and gone to their separate rooms filled with happiness and hopes for the future.

Everything had seemed perfect…

**-()-**

He dreamt.

_Ants… ants everywhere. Biting, crawling… itching, itching, ITCHING!_

John shot up in bed, furiously scratching at the back of his right hand. His sleep-addled brain took all of thirteen seconds to realise what was going on.

"You've got to be kidding me," he grumbled, looking at his hand with something like recrimination. "Not now."

As his mind unscrambled itself, it translated the itching into a series of quick pulses, repeating over and over.

John hadn't given the small device he'd had implanted months before a single thought since he woke up in the Infirmary.

They all had them… It was kinda fuzzy.

_Who? I was part of some kind of group…_

His hand just kept right on itching.

Images and memories came flowing back at the pointed (and rather annoying reminder). Voices flowed to the surface of his mind as he absently scratched at the skin hiding the micro transceiver.

…

"_He's lost it. He wants to make war!"_

…

"_But what the hell are you suggesting we do about it?"_

"_Yeah, not all of us can just up and leave, y'know."_

…

"_I hear you, my dear, but we need to be ready to make a decision when the time comes. We can't let him drag us down with us. He could ruin everything we have worked for."_

…

"_I'm not listening to this! It's _treason!_"_

"_It's prudent planning, Pyro. Either you're in or you're out. What will it be?"_

"_You're not giving me a choice are you?"_

"_Think for your self for once. Do you really need one?"_

"_I guess not."_

…

"It just never ends, does it?"

John got out of bed, tapping the implant three times hard, to begin the actual transmission. He counted out the beats in his head as he dressed, bringing to mind the complex code that Cypher had insisted they all learn.

"Red…outside… now… past fountain… grove… Green… Blue."

**-()-**

He moved like a shadow through the darkened hallways.

_I must remember to thank Mystique for the sneak-and-creep lessons…_

He headed for the back door leading to the Mansion's grand garden and slipped out. The trees were swaying in the wind, the nearly full moon casting moving shadows on the ground.

"Goddamn cloak and dagger bullshit," he grumbled to himself, heating the air around him as he moved across the grounds. He walked past the fountain with his hands buried deep in his pockets.

About a hundred and fifty yards beyond the big stone ring lay a large grove of old oaks. The ancient trees blocked out the light of the moon completely, and the ground below them was shrouded in darkness.

Fishing a cigarette from his jacket pocket, he leaned against one of the trees and put it between his lips as per agreement. To the average looker-on he looked like a teenage, underweight (and kinda short) James Dean. To others, his pose said 'I came alone; I was not followed'.

They knew each other well – very well; they knew each other's moves. So John wasn't surprised when the smoke was snagged away from him with a 'SNAP' by a nine foot long tongue.

He didn't start, he didn't flinch. He'd known exactly where Toad was by the change in temperature in the tree above him; instead, he calmly fished out another fag and threw it into the air, catching it with his lips.

"You're late, Red," a raspy voice sounded, and Toad soundlessly landed in front of him.

The English mutant got up in John's face and growled.

"I guess keeping the time isn't a big deal for leather fetishists?"

_Aannnd he's pissed, _John thought with a mental wince. An angry Toad was not a fun thing to behold.

"You're just angry you didn't get invited to the swinger party," he sniped back, refusing to be intimidated, and going for the tried and true 'when in deep shit, dig deeper' method.

Toad scoffed, for a moment showing his very British disapproval of, well… everything else.

"As if I'd willingly step foot in that den of distinct poofiness!"

"Come on, Mor-ti-mer, you'd fit right in!" John used Toad's full name to full effect adding a posh upper crust accent, just to rub it in.

"Eat me, Mister Sin-Jin Allerdyce, _if_ you please!"

"I don't care for frog legs…"

"Bloody Aussie."

"Crumpet eating imperialist."

"I'm warning you, ANZAC…"

"Right back at ya, Earl Grey!"

"Boys!"

Mystique slinked out of the shadows in all her blue glory. A fond smile belied her strict tone as she took in the two young men standing in front of her. They were wearing identical 'aww shucks' smiles, failing miserably in looking contrite. She could wear a man-suit until her face turned… well blue, but she'd never understand the way those two seemed to communicate using nothing but foul language.

Pyro's face lit up when he saw her and took in her appearance.

"Damn, Mystique," he said with a smile. "It's good to see you again!"

"Likewise, Pyro," she answered. "We have much to discuss."

"Yeah," Toad interrupted her, earning himself a disapproving look from Mystique, "Like why you didn't see fit to report in as agreed!"

"Well…" John scratched the back of his neck. "It's a long story…"

**-()-**

"Amnesia? Bloody 'ell, Pyro!"

"Yeah, I know…"

"The Phoenix? Bloody Hell!!!"

"I _know!_"

"Gentlemen, this might not be a bad thing…"

"Mystique, luv. He has the bloody Phoenix in his bloody _head!_ How can that be anything but oh-so-everlovin' BAD?"

"We have additional power on our side, now. _Controllable_ power. Think about it…If the deal Pyro made with the Phoenix is valid, and if they really accepted Pyro back in the fold, we have something we didn't before: A choice."

"You don't mean…?"

"Toad. HE's back and he's already gathering another army; trained adults this time – infiltrators and controllers. We need to get it together!"

"Yeah, but are you _sure, _Mystique? Are we really gonna…"

"Look, Mortimer. This is survival. Are you in or out?"

"Yeah, come on, Toad… You'd look great in leather!"

"If you don't shut up right now, ya wombat lickin' bastard, I'm gonna…"

"Toad? Mortimer, darling?"

"Yeah, luv?"

"I'll wear leather if you do…"

"Oh… well I'm in then!"

"I thought you might be."

**TBC.**

**A/N: **So… I'd apologise for the horrendous wait you guys have had to endure, but Exams are upon us, laying siege to our minds and draining our creative resources. The HORROR!

I really struggled with this chapter (but at least it's long…). Please gimme some lovin'!

**A/N2: ** I find myself looking for a likely pairing for Bobby (Not Kitty!) any ideas? I'm actually contemplating an OC!!!!!! (never thought that would happen to me, honestly) or maybe someone from Evolution? Hmm… Wanda might be fun. Ideas? Thoughts? Threats?

Bring em on!

**Next time on Tabula Fucking Rasa:** **Chapter 20** (whew) **Ever-Lovin' Badness **


	20. EverLovin' Badness

**Disclaimer: **You know where to find it, right?

**A/N: **So… to make up for the huge delay of the last chapter, here's another one in short succession. Please review? Pretty please? I know I've left you for a while, but (bats eyelashes) I still love _you_.

This is for all you reviewers out there (especially the ones who leave me more than one sentence).

Enjoy

**Tabula Fucking Rasa.**

**Chapter 20: Ever-Lovin' Badness**

**Previously on Tabula Fucking Rasa:**

"_Toad. HE's back and he's already gathering another army; trained adults this time – infiltrators and controllers. We need to get it together!"_

"_Yeah, but are you sure, Mystique? Are we really gonna…"_

"_Look, Mortimer. This is survival. Are you in or out?"_

"_Yeah, come on, Toad… You'd look great in leather!"_

"_If you don't shut up right now, ya wombat lickin' bastard, I'm gonna…"_

"_Toad? Mortimer, darling?"_

"_Yeah, luv?"_

"_I'll wear leather if you do…"_

"_Oh… well I'm in then!"_

"_I thought you might be."_

**And now the continuation:**

Storm's Office, the next morning.

"They want to what?"

Storm's eyes were approximately the size of ocean maelstroms and her mouth was shaped in a very undignified 'o' of utter surprise, but hey. It wasn't every day one was told that two of one's most fervent enemies wanted to jump ship and join the fold.

"They want to join the X-Men, Storm," John repeated.

The two mutants were situated in the principal's office along with Hank McCoy and Logan, who was sporting a look of incredulity, matching and even surpassing Storm's by several lengths and an anticipatory smile; the smile of a man waiting for the 'Got Ya.'

His 'April's Fools' look soon dissipated, though, at John's continued serious expression. The Pyrokinetic stood with his arms crossed in front of him in a defensive pose, suggesting that he was expecting an attack of some kind.

"You're serious?" Wolverine said, his voice cracking a little. "Pyro, are you _insane_? They are criminals, terrorists… _Killers_. How the hell could they… how could _you_ expect us to trust them? They are no-good Magneto fans and our enemies!"

"So was I, Logan," John said quietly. "I was right there with them, killing and terrorising. You don't trust me either, but here I am."

Logan scoffed at this and waved a hand dismissively at this. He kinda did trust the kid, but he'd be damned if he let _him_ know that.

"That is a completely different thing; you were young, impressionable. Magneto just capitalised on your issues."

John was shaking his head even before the Wolverine had finished speaking.

"No, Logan," he said firmly. "You can't excuse me and not them." Seeing Logan was about to argue back, he held up a hand and continued.

"Please, let me finish." At Logan's reluctant nod and Hank's look of mild scientific interest, he drew a deep breath and gathered all the rhetorical skills he had inherited from Jean. With memories of standing confidently in front of government officials and speaking his/her mind he met Storm's eyes, knowing instinctively that she was the one he really had to convince.

_Play on her maternal instincts and sense of righteousness and femininity, _the telepath in him whispered. Jean always knew how to speak to people, because she was intimately familiar with her audience. He absently wondered if the Professor had known that she scanned everybody, and not always with their permission.

"Storm, listen," he started making sure that his voice was empathic but not overly emotional. He did not want to come across as the impulsive fly-off-the-handle teenager he used to be. "I know I was young, but so was Mort. He was only seventeen when he joined Magneto's outfit, and unlike me, he didn't have anyone else to go to. Same with Mystique…"

"Wait a minute there, Bub," Logan interrupted. "Mystique could have gone anywhere and been anybody. That argument is just broken."

"No it isn't, Logan," John responded instantly, a small note of irritation creeping into his voice.

"She spent her youth being forced to be someone she wasn't, just to fit in. Everywhere she went she had to wear a mask or be taunted, feared, or even beaten. It is a well proven fact that those who are discriminated against tend to cling all the closer to their defining 'otherness,' when they are given no alternative. Mystique was never allowed to even _try_ to fit in as herself, so of course she'd become even more aware of the need to. Imagine what that must have felt like, having no choice but to comply and be someone she wasn't; growing up thinking there was something wrong with you."

Here he looked at Storm, very well knowing that she had never been in that position her self. Storm had never been discriminated against having come into the country in a time where being of African descent wasn't really a problem anymore; at least, not when compared to being a mutant who couldn't hide and fit in.

Pyro knew that even as Mystique had become acutely aware of her difference, the opposite was true of Storm. She had become overly aware of her own past: hate-free as it was, she felt guilty. She was the type that wanted to suffer along side her people as she saw them; she would want to connect with those less fortunate, and that was what he capitalised on.

"Her situation is really no different than that of for instance the black minority or any other ethnic group. She embraced her 'otherness' because it was the only thing she had that was _really hers_. Magneto offered her an environment where she could be proud of herself, where she was the strong one and everyone _else_ was flawed. Doctor McCoy, I'm sure you're familiar with the research?"

The blue furred mutant nodded thoughtfully. He had of course read the scholastic papers on the subject; had in fact recommended several to a young red-headed mutant woman once, when she became preoccupied with hate crime and the anti-mutant mentality. To have that research quoted back at him with such conviction by the rather un-scholastic John Allerdyce was… interesting. But the boy did have a point.

"Yes," he started. "I am familiar with the research as you well know, Mister Allerdyce."

Addressing Storm, Beast said: "I recommend we take the offer of alliance seriously, Ororo. It is my belief that they are in earnest."

"Oh, come _on_!" Logan exclaimed. "They're playin' mind games, that's all. Magneto's back and they're just trying to place spies. Can't you see? These people are fanatics, they… they're crooks!"

"They're _survivors_, Logan" John snapped. "They are individualistic, jaded people acting from enlightened self-interest. Just like you did… just like I thought I did."

"Yeah, so?" the Wolverine growled. "Doesn't change the fact that they are dangers to society."

At this, John let out a burst of incredulous laughter. "They're dangerous? Well, hell. If that's your criteria for sussing out the bad guys, we'd better all be put in chains right now."

"That's not the…"

"Let me tell you what the point is, Wolverine," John interrupted, meeting the older man's glare head on, no trace of fear in him. "I can burn things to ashes in seconds, and I have. I have killed. And that was in the past; just imagine what I could do now!"

He gestured toward the white haired woman sitting at the desk.

"Storm could short circuit entire cities, and she has struck to kill too."

"Like who?" Logan asked.

"Like Toad," John answered immediately and moving on.

"Doctor McCoy can crush a man's skull with one hand, and I saw him in action at Alcatraz. Rogue can kill with a touch, Iceman's powers are just as lethal as mine were, Nightcrawler is the perfect assassin, and you… don't even get me started."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Logan snarled, his voice low and grating enough to sand down glass. "You're pushing it too far, Pyro."

"What? You feel like hurting me? For telling the truth?" he asked loudly. Seeing as Logan was about to answer back, possibly with his fists, he continued, his voice gaining in volume as he spoke.

"Well here's a bit more. All of us – _All_ of us have some inherent darkness that could easily take over. All any of us really need is the right buttons pushed, the right incentive. The truth, plain and simple, is that none of us, none of _you_ are in any position to judge these people, because the fact is that it could just as easily have been _any_ of you standing on the other side of that battlefield!"

Storm couldn't quite catch her breath. As she took in the tableau in front of her, the surreal ambience of the scene stuck her profoundly. For once, Beast didn't seem to have anything to say. His facial features, usually so hard to read on account of the fur and his diplomatic training were painted with a look of profound… pride? And his eyes were trained on the young man. John in turn, only had eyes for the Wolverine who, for once, seemed to be about to be stared into the ground.

And the 'boy' – John.

The same John Pyro Allerdyce who had never before shown more than a passing interest for anything or anyone other than himself, Rogue and sometimes Bobby.

_Look at him now, _she thought.

"You're right, John," she heard herself say.

Everybody turned as one to look at her. Hank with a knowing half smile, Logan and John with almost twin looks of surprise. The similarity between the two really was uncanny sometimes, she thought.

"He's right, Logan and deep inside you, you know that. We must consider his point valid; after all, he knows these people better than we do, and I believe he has certain… additional insight?"

Here she looked at the young Pyrokinetic with an eyebrow lifted in question.

Pyro sent her a smirk.

"If you're asking 'did Phoenix scan them', then the answer is 'hell yes'. She had absolutely no scruples when it came to breaches of privacy." He glanced at Logan sideways. "She was even more paranoid than you, Logie-boy."

"Hmprh," was Logan's only reply.

Adopting a more serious tone, John looked him in the eye without malice, without challenge. "I trust these people, Logan," he said earnestly, meaning every word. "They want this, and we will need them."

"Will we?" Wolverine asked, having already given up trying to argue against the passionate young man, but needing to put in a last little show of opposition. It was the contrary part of him, the part that so enjoyed the verbal combat that he and John always engaged in. The situation was becoming a bit too serious for his liking, and the animal in him wanted to seek refuge in what it knew.

John didn't rise to the bait, though; he didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Yes, we will," he simply said. Those three words were delivered with all the factuality and conviction of prophesy.

The implication was not wasted on Storm. Her mind was a churning mass of confused images of war – each one more disturbing than the last.

_We'll need them? My god, how bad will it get? What does he know?_

The burden of leadership settled about her shoulders like a choke collar of heavy metal. This was ultimately her decision; she knew that, and she would make it.

_No regrets, Ororo. You must be strong; a storm is coming and we need to be ready for it._

She stood up and addressed the room in general.

"Bring them in," she said, breaking the tense silence that had followed Pyro's words of doom.

"It's time we join ranks."

**-()-**

A few hours later, same place.

To his mind, the day two of the most hard-core Brotherhood mutants joined forces with the X-men should be given some spiffy holiday-like name – in capital letters. Something along the line of 'Unification Day' or maybe 'Monumentally Weird Day'.

Bobby Drake had watched in wonder as Storm welcomed the two new 'recruits' as Toad had jokingly called Mystique and himself in front of the school in general.

Mystique had looked calm and collected with a small smile playing about her lips as if she knew something nobody else did, except maybe John, who was standing next to Bobby. The two former terrorists, her and his best friend, kept sending each other looks…

The green skinned mutant, on the other hand, had stood well away from the female that had struck him with lightning as he hung helpless from a precipice above the cold waters of the New York harbour. He didn't look quite so calm as Mystique and seemed about ready to explode into violence until she lent down and whispered something to him that made him snicker.

Bobby knew that Toad probably would have done the same thing to Storm had he been given the chance; after all they were enemies.

Were… as in past tense.

_This is gonna take some getting used to, _he thought to himself.

Still, he figured, their transition should be easier than John's had been, at least with the students. The kids had already heard what John had done to Berserker, and had seen him instantly being welcomed by the elder mutants. It was only logical to assume that two fully trained terrorists would be even more dangerous and seeing as they were being welcomed in much the same way as Pyro had been, the kids would get the message that these two were just as welcome, even if they really weren't.

The staff had of course been informed prior to Mystique and Toad's arrival, so they wouldn't act all surprised when Storm made the announcement, and the range of reaction had been astounding.

Piotr had just nodded once in that almost military fashion he had. The tall Russian always took things in stride, and to Bobby it served as a reminder of what his own reaction _should_ be.

_Ice is just as calm as steel, _he tried to tell himself. But it wasn't - not really.

His element was calm on the surface, that much was true, but beneath the exterior was the slow but sure movement of the glacier. Ice wasn't as calm as people thought, and neither was he. His mind was always moving, grinding away at some problem or other. To Piotr, new things just… were. That was the source of his calm, as far as Bobby could tell. His own serenity, though; that came from the implacable strength of the ever moving ice. Sooner or later, whatever troubled him would be ground to dust – sooner or later.

_Sooner or later I'll get used to this…_

Angel had looked a little lost. For all his gentle manners and soft speech, he could be related to Storm for all his stubbornness. The idea of 'forgive and forget' meant very little to him to him.

Whereas Bobby was quick to let things pass, Warren still didn't talk to his father when it wasn't about business. The heroic rescue at Alcatraz had been a matter of principle for the flying mutant, more than a gesture of actual fondness or familial love.

Bobby couldn't even begin to imagine what Warren must have gone through to become that cold; being constantly seen as an abysmal failure by the one man who should love him more than anything was more than Bobby could grasp.

Sure Iceman had been let down by his own family, but he'd had a good life before they found out, and he was sure that his parents would come around when they found out how much good the mutants could do if they put their minds to it.

_It is _not_ idiotic optimism, _he told his inner sceptic (that kinda sounded like John)_. We can coexist. We _will

Logan had of course seemed sceptical, but still, there was something else in his eyes: a kind of fierce anticipation. Bobby figured that he looked forward to Danger Room sessions with the two former Brotherhood members.

_I bet he's aching to kick their asses, if he can._

Bobby looked forward to seeing how the Wolverine's raw power would measure up against Toad's sheer talent or Mystique's dexterous versatility.

It was Rogue's expression that really got to him, though. She had looked positively murderous. It made sense to Bobby, considering the treatment she had been given by the two mutants and their allies before. Being tied up and used as a disposable tool must really have hurt. He'd seen Mystique snickering at her with Magneto on the jet and remembered well how Marie had to be restrained from attacking them.

He understood her reaction, sympathised with it, but he didn't much care for the arctic look she had shot John, when she found out that he was the one who had brought them in. She looked furious and hadn't said a word to him at the meet-and-greet the 'adults' held after the announcement.

He had wanted so badly to talk to her, but he had no idea what to say.

Bobby wasn't used to being in this position. He was the peace maker, the shoulder to cry on; to be unable to help a friend in pain did not sit well with him at all.

John didn't even seem to notice the cold shoulder he was getting. He was deep in conversation with someone over the secure telephone line; someone called 'Cypher.' Then a female voice took over and sounded mightily pissed off for about five seconds before the line went dead with a crackle. Pyro was left looking in surprise at the receiver, which was smoking; this lead to a burst of hoarse laughter from Toad and a wry shake of Mystique's head. The blue mutant looked almost maternally fond, kinda like Storm did sometimes, and mumbled something along the lines of: "Wanda will be Wanda."

John looked a little scared, actually, and Bobby couldn't help but wonder who the hell this Wanda person was.

"Well, they're coming too," John announced with shaky cheer, and put the phone down. "Storm? You have room for a few more people?"

Getting an affirmative from the headmistress he left the details up to Toad, who sat down and began to fiddle with a computer, trying to ignore Beast looking over his shoulder like an overprotective parent.

_Worried about the computer, no doubt._

Bobby was busy watching the two males and didn't notice Mystique staring at Rogue, who was still glaring at Pyro. He did, however notice it when she slinked up next to him and touched his shoulder.

"Iceman, a word please," she asked in that strangely modulated voice of hers. The sound sent involuntary shivers up and down his spine. He looked up at her, for a moment wondering if she'd grown taller in the last thirty seconds (hey, it could happen), and swallowed.

"Uhh… sure."

"What is going on between Stripes and Sin?"

_Who?_

"Who?"

Mystique smirked and shook her head.

"Rogue and Pyro. What's going on with them? Did she not forgive him like you obviously did, and recently got the idea that she could kill with her eyes as well as her touch?"

Iceman groaned inwardly. He did not want to supply the master spy with any sort of personal information that could hurt his friends. But she was looking at him in that creepy way, and he felt his resolve crumbling.

_Hey, Pyro trusts her. Maybe I can too, _his inner coward supplied.

"They are kinda… dating."

Mystique looked intrigued.

"Really? When did this happen?"

"Uhh… last night?" he said hesitantly.

_This will only end in tears, _he thought. _Or blood…_

"And let me guess," the blue assassin mused. "She is not too pleased with him for meeting with us, keeping secrets from her and especially for inviting us to join the Leather Brigade?"

"Leather Brigade?" he asked perplexed. At her smirk he just shook his head at the strangeness of it all. "Sin?"

"Yes," she explained. "Toad likes his offensive nick names. He and Pyro get along great."

The two shared a smile.

"I can imagine," he said.

Mystiques attention returned to the long-distance murder being dealt by the younger woman and her eyes narrowed.

"This is not viable," she hissed, and turned her back to Bobby.

"You will excuse me," she said and walked away.

"Sure…" Bobby said to her back and watched in terror worthy of classic horror movies as she walked over to Rogue and all but dragged her out of the room.

_Blood. It will definitely end in blood._

**-()-**

"We need to talk, Rogue. Now!"

Marie looked away from the back of John's head long enough to see Death Personified approach in the shape of one blue-skinned, red haired mutant assassin extraordinaire.

Her shock was so profound that she didn't even think of defending herself as Mystique grabbed her sweater-covered arm and pulled her out of the room.

It was only as the silence of the empty corridor enveloped them like a blanket of calm that her mind caught up to her body, and she wrenched away from the taller woman, pulled off the glove of her right hand and shrugged out of her cardigan.

Her arms were now bare and instantly she felt safer.

"Don't you dare put your hands on me, you… you _bitch_!" she exploded. "Don't you _ever_ touch me! I will suck you dry, I swear to God Almighty."

Mystique took the threat in stride, patiently waiting for Rogue to run out of steam.

_The girl has spirit. I never would have thought, _she mused.

"Are you done, Rogue?" she asked calmly, looking the girl in the eye and taking care to use her name.

Her words, spoken in the tone of a mother addressing a child in the middle of a temper tantrum, deflated the younger woman as surely as a needle would a balloon.

Subtlety had always been Mystiques strong point, even when she was Raven Darkholme.

"Rogue. I realise that you hate me and Mort for what we did to you," she started.

Rogue folded her arms over her chest and just looked at Mystique as if to say 'you think?'

"You must realise, Rogue that we were at war, at least as far as we saw it. We were obeying orders and you were at the wrong place at the right time. Nothing that happened to you was personal; nothing that happened to you had anything to do with Pyro, and he has done _nothing_ to deserve you looking at him like that."

Rogue was outraged. Who did this woman think she was, telling her what to think and dictating to her like that?

"My thoughts and feelings are none of your business, Mystique!" she snapped. "And neither is John."

_So much for the rational approach, _the blue mutant woman thought with exasperation.

"On the contrary, girl," Mystique retorted. "Pyro is _very_ much my concern. He is on of a select few people that I care to _make_ my business, and I will not see him miserable because you seem to have a, might I add, childish problem with me!"

"Childish?!?"

"There is a war coming, girl, and we need to get our acts together and make a stand. Magneto has great plans. He's had years to plot and develop his campaign; the Alcatraz incident was only a reaction to the entire 'cure' fiasco. He has been gathering support from all around the world while your teachers were twiddling their fingers. The proverbial shit is about to hit the mother of all fans, and we need all hands on deck. We do _not_ have time for this sort of thing."

Marie said nothing. She didn't know what to say. When compared with the grim picture Mystique was painting, her hang-ups _did_ seem a trifle trivial. Still, she refused to back down from her anger. The parts of her that were Pyro and Logan wouldn't let her.

The assassin threw up her hands at Rogue's continued stubborn silence.

"What do I have to do to end this? Pyro needs all the support he can get, and I figure you're an integral part of his life now, so what will it take for you to get it together?"

"An apology."

"That's it?" Mystique asked, stumped.

"Yeah, that's it."

"All right," the blue mutant said, her voice reverting to calm neutrality, "I'm sorry, Rogue. I apologise for the way I treated you in the past."

The young woman looked at the dangerous and proud mutant in front of her in surprise. She hadn't really expected to get what she asked for, and she certainly hadn't been expecting anything that sincere-sounding.

"Okay, then," she said, the entire situation feeling kinda anti climactic.

"Fine," Mystique answered with a nod.

"Fine," Rogue replied with an identical move of her head.

"Fine."

"Why does John need my help anyway?" she asked, genuinely curious. "What's going on?" She had noticed that her boyfriend seemed to suddenly be in charge, kind of, and she had wondered.

Mystique observed the girl in front of her with intensity. Apparently coming to a decision of some sort she said:

"Pyro has plans as well, Rogue. That's why we're here. I can't really tell you any more, but I hope you're able to trust him?"

Rogue nodded.

"I do trust him, Mystique, I do. But why can't you tell me?"

Marie did trust John, that was no lie, but that didn't mean she liked to be kept in the dark.

"Because he hasn't told me either," the blue mutant replied with a smirk at Rogue's surprised look.

"But you're like a 'senior operative' or somethin,'" Marie exclaimed. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really," Mystique answered with a calm smile. "I trust him too."

**TBC**

**A/N: **Sooo… let's get this plot on the road, huh? Please take the time to review! As a reward, whoever writes the best review will have the next chapter dedicated to them and can decide the title (within reason).

**Come on! You know you wanna hit that little button.**

**Ebon Hush**

**Next on Tabula Fucking Rasa: Chapter 21: Reviewer's choice**


	21. An Interlude

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop and a teddy named Mikey.**

**A/N:** Oh, the sucky-ness of I! University, crashy Internet, writer's block, and so forth. You know the drill, so sorry.

A super-duper big thank you to the rewievers and an apology for the shortness. This is a transition chapter, before the action starts again.

I haven't been able to decide between all the awesome reviews. So the title and plot of the next chapter will be the reviewer's choice one.

Enjoy.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 21: An Interlude.**

It had been one crazy day for the Institute and its inhabitants. Bobby was seeing triple as he made his way to the sanctuary of his room.

He was rubbing his eyes tiredly with one hand as he rummaged around for the key, and finally locating it he jammed it into the lock and was about to turn it as he heard the sound of someone mumbling down the hallway. That part of the corridor hadn't been populated in a while, not since Piotr and Angel had moved to the teachers' wing.

Bobby had chosen to remain behind in his and John's old room, which had been specially insulated to suit them. It was designed to stay at a certain temperature at all times, lower now that John didn't live there anymore.

Looking to his left he was met with the sight of none other than Toad who was apparently having some difficulty with the key card to Piotr's old room. Bobby's room was the only one on the floor that still had an old fashioned key-and-lock combo. The professor had changed it back after the famous prank war of three years ago, when Bobby and John had taken on Magma and Jubilee as revenge for… something or other. With two fire controllers on the war path, a fair few plastic cards had been melted.

"Bloody piece of shite… come on," Toad was murmuring to himself as he tried to manipulate the bendy piece of plastic coated cardboard with just one hand while holding on to his laptop with the other.

Bobby seemed to remember Toad being the designated mechanic of the Brotherhood. He also remembered the tale of his near-exclusion from active duty after the run in with Storm in New York City. According to John, he'd lost most of the mobility in his fingers as a result of burns and nerve damage. There had also been something about the loos of night-vision.

"Need a hand?" he heard himself ask.

The mumbling instantly stopped and the older mutant turned to look at him. Bobby swallowed.

_I just asked a nearly crippled terrorist if he needed a hand! I'm dead!_

"What?" Toad asked incredulously, as if he couldn't believe his ears. It came out sounding like 'Wot' to Bobby, kinda like John sounded when he was drunk or tired.

"Uhh…" Bobby repeated. "Do you need a hand with that?"

Toad seemed to be thinking about that for a while. At last he shrugged and said "Sure."

Iceman breathed a sigh of relief and walked the ten yards or so between them. Toad was a little shorter than him, he was surprised to notice. He seemed to be around his mid twenties or so, younger than Bobby had thought he would be. He hadn't had a good chance to indulge his hobby of 'people-watching' with the former terrorist, mainly because he'd had other things to do and partly because of fear.

As he took the key card from Toad's hand, however, he couldn't help but notice the scar tissue criss-crossing the yellowish-green skin of the amphibian mutant.

"It's impolite to stare, X-Man," Mortimer grumbled and pulled his hand back.

"Oh, I'm sorry… it's just. That had to _hurt,_ man!" he commiserated. "I've had a taste of Storm's lightning before… nothing like that though… still hurt, you know? I mean…"

"You're babbling, Iceman."

"Sorry."

"'S alright. Sin said you did that a lot. Guess for once he wasn't exaggeratin'."

Bobby got the door open and Toad walked in with a low whistle. "Nice digs. No wonder you people are such poufs."

He sat the lap top on the bedside table and turned 360 degrees inspecting his new room, shrugging off his duffle bag.

"This is a student's room. The teachers' are nicer," Bobby said a little self consciously.

"Are they really?"

"Umm… John said that there'd be more people coming. Do you know who?"

Toad was busy toeing off his shoes and looked up a little distractedly?

"Eh?"

"Do you know who else is coming?" Bobby repeated.

"Yeah… Cyph' an' the kiddies," he shrugged. "Maybe a few others."

"I'm not sure…"

"Cypher is a technopath and the kids are Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. They'll like this place," Toad said with a small wicked smile. "Lots of innocent little X-kids to boss around. It'll be great."

"Sounds like fun."

"Doubtlessly. Look, I'm going to kip for a bit so why don't you be a good little chap an' bugger off for about eight or nine hours?"

Toad threw himself down on the bed bouncing a bit.

"Oh, sure. Goodnight."

"Nighty-night."

**-()-**

The atmosphere wasn't any less tense on the second floor where John and Rogue were getting ready for bed.

John wasn't so oblivious that he hadn't noticed the cold shoulder he'd been receiving all night and never one for beating around the bush he'd asked Rogue what was wrong several times, receiving the same answer each time: "Nothing's wrong John."

Well, now they were in private and he'd be damned if he went to bed with whatever the issue was hanging over his head. Some would have quoted the old adage of 'never let the sun set on an argument', but not John. No he was border line pissed off and he'd never had any patience for dodging issues. Not ever.

"Marie," he started.

"John." His name was delivered in a blank voice, completely noncommittal. Apparently Rogue was feeling especially girly.

He heaved a sigh of exasperation and cursed silently.

"Look, either you tell me what the hell is up with you, or I'll be sleeping on the floor," he stated.

"The _floor_?" Marie sounded like she didn't believe he was serious.

"Room doesn't feature a couch, so yeah, the floor," he groused. "What's wrong?"

"You really have to ask?" She looked at him then, incredulous. Her face was firmly set in its 'if you don't know what you've done, _I'm_ not gonna tell you' mode. He was very familiar with that look, but it had always been directed at Bobby, not him.

_Must be a boyfriend privilege. Great._

"Do not start that prissy girl bit with me, Rogue. I'm not in the mood, ever!" he said irritably.

"God, you are such an insensitive asshole, John! I swear…" She threw up her hands and sat down on the bed, facing away from him.

He scowled at her straight back and considered just going to sleep. He was tired, had a headache and his nerves were frayed all to hell. But he knew her. If they didn't get this solved like right now, it would fester and grow. He was just so tired…

"_I'M_ insensitive? You've been Miss Icequeen all day and I have no idea what I'm supposed to have done. Now I'm tired, I'm stressed out by all this shit and I need to know that…" He paused. "You know what… never mind. I'm going to sleep."

"You could have warned me." Her voice was quiet and small. She sounded just as exhausted as he felt.

He sat down next to her and took her hand. He needed her calming influence to keep his head clear. This was important.

"Warned you about what?" he asked, his voice even, but not hostile.

Surges of emotion rose through the point were their skin touched. Fear, anger and apprehension.

"About them!" she cried. "'Bout our life suddenly being invaded by the damned Brotherhood, that's what!"

"They're here for a reason, Rogue," he said, trying to impart some of the urgency he felt through their link.

"So Mystique said, but I need to know _why_!" She turned to look him in the eyes, her own filling with tears.

_Jesus… don't cry._

"I can't tell you, Marie. Not yet." He stroked her fingers with his own, and looked down. He'd been keeping secrets all his life, why was this so hard now?

_**Love does that to you. You still think keeping her is a good idea, Firestarter?**_

The Phoenix's voice was calm and genuinely curious.

_I still believe it's worth it, yes, _he answered her.

"You don't trust me?" Marie said. At his silence she continued, her voice flat and defeated. "After all this, you don't trust me."

He was shaking his head, before she finished her last sentence.

"I do trust you, Marie, and I need you to trust me back," he said, squeezing her soft hand. He swallowed and added a word he hardly ever used: "Please. This is hard enough as it is…"

A hint of worry crept through his mind, spreading from her hand through his.

_She really cares._

The thought warmed him, even as it gave birth to a small tinge of sadness. Rogue closed her eyes as the emotion reached her.

"Okay. I'll trust you, Johnny, but this better be damned good."

He breathed a sigh of relief, crisis temporarily averted.

"Thank you, now come to bed. I'm completely done in."

He flopped down on the bed, rubbing his face with one hand and scratching his stomach with the other. The scars were obviously still itching she thought.

She let out a small snort of laughter as she lay down next to him.

"You sound all British. Guess being around Toad brings out the Australian in you?"

"I guess."

As she put her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, a position she had gotten used to in a frighteningly short time, she frowned as she noticed very faint tremors running through him.

"You're shaking."

"I know. I'm just tired."

She raised her head on one hand, leaning on her elbow and looked down on him.

"Hogwash! There's something else, isn't there? Is it Wanda?"

John blinked a few times in confusion. "Huh?"

"That girl on the phone; she sure seemed upset to hear from you. Ex-girlfriend?"

Now that she thought about it, it made sense. He had been gone for months; there would have been plenty of time. She couldn't help the images of a beautiful guerrilla girl, like something out of an Isabel Allende book kissing him goodbye before sending him to war.

Her little fantasy-scape had just begun to be accompanied by a stirring violin soundtrack when it was interrupted.

John laughed.

"What's so funny?" she asked, put out.

"Remember when we watched Star Trek: Deep Space Nine?" he asked, still chuckling.

"Yeah, the one where Kitty kept squealing over the 'like super hot doctor'? What about it?"

"Ferengi Rule of Acquisition number 119."

"119…Never sleep with the Boss' daughter?"

"Exactly."

"You mean?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Yep."

"Magneto's daughter? You're kidding."

"Nope. Wanda and Pietro are his; not that he acted like it most of the time. Neither of them was active, but he worked them twice as hard as the rest of us." John shook his head, looking serious suddenly.

"I take it, that's pretty hard…" she ventured.

"You have no idea," he agreed with a nod. "No 'Father of the Year' award for Magneto, that's for sure."

"Oh… so not a girl friend."

"Why, Miss D'Ancanto. Are you jealous?" His eyes were sparkling at her a self-satisfied smirk gracing his features.

"I'll show you jealous!"

"Please do."

**TBC**

**A/N: So, yeah. Short and all. **

**Please when you review, leave me any ideas you might have for incidents or happenings in the next chapter, as well as any title ideas. The dedication and all is still up for grabs!**

**Review! At length, please, to make up for my muse, who is AWOL!**

**Ebon Hush**


	22. Fractures

**Disclaimer:** I'm even broker than I usually am… so clearly I own nothing.

**A/N: **Lookie! Quick update for ya. Thank you so much for the kind reviews. Not as many as usual for the last chappie, but hey; it _was_ kinda short.

**Valoofle won the review contest and this chapter is dedicated to her!** I've divided the chapter in two so you wouldn't have to wait forever for an update. (The actual chapter she requested the title of will be next, and while we wait, here is the tensest chapter I've written yet, I think.) Enjoy.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 22: Fractures.**

**Previously on Tabula Fucking Rasa:**

"_God, you are such an insensitive asshole, John! I swear…" She threw up her hands and sat down on the bed, facing away from him._

"_You could have warned me." Her voice was quiet and small. She sounded just as exhausted as he felt._

"_Warned you about what?" he asked._

"_About them!" she cried. "'Bout our life suddenly being invaded by the damned Brotherhood, that's what!"_

"_They're here for a reason, Rogue."_

_-()-_

"_I can burn things to ashes in seconds, and I have. I have killed. And that was in the past; just imagine what I could do now!" _

**And now, the continuation**

Breakfast was a rather tense affair at the Institute the next morning. After all, it wasn't every day teenage kids got to share their meal with two wanted terrorists.

It had started off well enough, the youngsters talking in groups as they sat at the three long tables in the dining room. John, Marie and Bobby were seated at the middle one, Marie next to the window, John beside her and Bobby across from him. Their table was only half full and the seats next to both boys were empty. That was about to change though.

As Toad plonked down on the chair next to John, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder and Mystique slithered into the seat beside Bobby almost purring 'good morning', the students seemed to remember exactly who and what their pyrokinetic classmate used to be. Not a few scowls and glares were directed their way, all of which were masterfully ignored by both elder Brotherhood members. Pyro, however, wasn't one to ignore attention – any kind of attention.

Turning around in his chair and meeting the eyes of a few of them squarely, he raised an eyebrow and asked: "What?"

Immediately, everyone at the table behind them lowered their eyes and mumbled something along the lines of "nothing".

"That's what I thought," he grumbled and turned back to his coffee. Beside him, Rogue elbowed him discreetly, a frown on her face.

"What is it Marie?" he asked in a much warmer tone.

Mystique leaned a bit forward, and said in a stage whisper: "It's really not polite, nor politic, to intimidate one's acquaintances before lunch, Pyro dear."

John's other eyebrow joined the first one near his, once again, brown hairline. "They were starin', Mystique."

The blue skinned assassin pulled a half smile and responded: "Be that as it may, it does not give you an excuse to be crass."

"Mystique." He looked almost pleading in that 'but-I-don't-_want_-to-play-in-the-snow' kinda way.

Mystique's smile vanished as though it had never been, even if the mischievous sparkle in her eyes didn't. "You should apologise, Pyro."

He huffed an exasperated breath. "Oh, _come_ on…"

"Now, Pyro." Her tone brooked absolutely no argument.

A battle of wills ensued; Rogue, watching from the sidelines, was fairly certain that it wasn't the first time something like that had happened. John was one of the most stubborn people she knew. It was one of the things that made him who he was. To her immense surprise, however, he broke eye contact with Mystique almost immediately and turned to Toad instead. Rogue couldn't see his expression as his back was to her, but she did see Toad's nearly imperceptible nod.

For a moment, John stayed facing away from her, looking at his two mentors in turn and then he slumped back in his chair.

"Fine," he mumbled, scowling at the tabletop and cutlery in front of him. The ice cubes floating in his orange juice instantly melted.

"Temper, Pyro," Mystique said in an even voice.

Hazel eyes flickered closed and the pyrokinetic drew a deep breath. He turned around in his chair again to face the students behind him.

Then came the first shock of the day. Pyro apologised. Politely.

A stunned silence spread through the room as he tensely turned back to his meal, head held high and seemingly ignoring the "What ever. Freak." mumbled behind him. He simply placed his hands very carefully on the table in front of him, evenly spaced on either side of his plate.

Rogue, still not entirely believing her eyes and ears, placed her own gloved hand on top of one of his and gave it the smallest of squeezes. As his eyes moved to hers, she silently mouthed 'thank you'.

The meal progressed quietly, Bobby and John discussing physics class and Rogue reading the newspaper. Half way through the meal, Logan approached their table and said: "Toad, got a minute?"

The two males left the room without any further comment other than Mystiques polite "play nice now".

Breaking off from their discussion on applied thermo physics, Bobby asked John: "What was that all about?"

John shrugged. "Probably fighting."

"Oh."

**-()-**

After breakfast, Rogue walked up behind Mystique in the hallway. The blue skinned mutant was leaning one shoulder against the wall, arms loosely crossed as she watched the children milling about on their way to class. Even if the older woman had her back turned, she politely asked: "Yes, Rogue?" as the girl drew near. The fact that the assassin had sensed her approach in a crowded corridor and the strange grating quality of her voice sent a minute chill down Marie's spine.

"John, uh Pyro, told me that we're expecting Magneto's children," she began. The blue skinned woman turned to her, face expressionless, and Rogue wondered if she should not have mentioned that John had told her.

"Yes, we are," was the only answer she received from Mystique, though, and she didn't seem upset at all.

Pulling herself together, Rogue met the yellow eyes before her and continued: "I was just wondering if we're expecting trouble? I mean… Magneto must not be too eager to let his kids join us?"

"He won't be thrilled, that's true," Mystique agreed. "He might send someone after them on principle."

"Shouldn't we be planning for that eventuality, then?"

"Yes, we should, which is why Toad is meeting with the Wolverine and Storm right now, I imagine. We can't go out without uniforms after all, now that we're part of the team."

Marie blinked a few times, trying to figure out what that strange undertone in Mystique's voice could be – sarcasm? Resentment, perhaps? Or something else?

While she was thinking, the older woman uncrossed her arms and simply said: "You will excuse me," and walked away in the direction of Storm's office.

_Huh._

**-()-**

Storm's office.

The moment Mystique stepped through the door to the office she was met with a fulminating glare. Pyro was searing holes right through her, arms crossed and practically glowing from suppressed heat. For a short moment she thought she was about to be attacked and her muscles tensed; then she noted the way his hands were gripping the sides of his shirt and his hunched shoulders, like he was trying to physically contain the roaring inferno inside him

She met his stare head on, not challenging, just looking.

"I'm not so naïve to think you don't know exactly what you just did in there," he said, his voice tight with anger.

"I do realise that I undermined any authority you might have had over these people, Pyro. It was necessary, as well you know."

It was only then she paid any attention to the other occupants of the room: Storm, Toad and the Wolverine. Toad was crouched on a chair well away from his young student. He had seen what Pyro's temper could do, and Toads didn't do any better near fire than they did with electricity. Wolverine seemed ready to pounce at a moment's notice and Storm looked worried. That look quickly morphed into one of surprise as Pyro slowly straightened and nodded.

"If you say so, Mystique."

He closed his eyes, frowning a little. "The Phoenix isn't all that pleased, though. Please remember, it's not just me you're ordering around anymore."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "I hope you realise that we cannot afford to let these people think of us as threats."

The young man in front of her uncrossed his arms and the heat-haze went away. "I am aware, Mystique, that it only takes one person's well placed comment to have the police and army storming this place. I know; but that argument doesn't cut it with Her. She knows she can easily negate the existence of anyone or anything they send against us."

Mystique looked thoughtful for a while and then said: "True. Maybe she should keep in mind that one catches more flies with honey than with vinegar?"

A small smile spread across Pyro's features. The two of them seemed to share some sort of inside joke.

_God among insects…_

"That's true," he agreed.

Storm cleared her throat. "Well, if we could get started?"

Mystique and Pyro each took seats and turned their attention to the weather witch.

"The rest of the X-men will be here in a few minutes, and I just wanted to make clear what your positions on the team will be." She folded her hands and leaned forward eyeing Pyro.

"You will not be joining the team at this time, John. You have no ability to disguise yourself appropriately and you are a wanted felon."

John leaned back in his chair a rebellious look on his face. His jaw was tightly clenched and Mystique was fairly certain he was about to explode.

Storm obviously also noticed and held up her hands in a braking motion. "Listen to me, John, please," she said quickly. "If you can come up with a way to contribute without the police being all over us the moment we step outside, I'd like to hear it."

He didn't answer, just smirked angrily.

Storm looked as though she was developing a headache. "Your powers are just too recognisable, Pyro," she continued. "Even if you wear a mask, they'll know who you are. They know you and they know what you can do," she finished and turned to Mystique and Toad, ready to carry on.

"Now you two…"

"They don't know what I can do."

The quiet words stopped her in her tracks. John was looking down into his hands, lying in his lap. He seemed thoughtful.

"What was that, John?" she asked politely.

As he looked up at her again her blood ran cold. His eyes, usually a captivating hazel hue, were black, black like the endless depths of space. As she fell into those eyes she felt vertigo capture her and her heart start an endless free fall.

_My God…_

"They don't know what _we_ can do, Ororo," the…thing in front of her said. The voice with which it spoke held both the utter cold of the darkness between the stars and the heat of a thousand burning suns.

"John?" she gasped, feeling as though the very air in her lungs was disintegrated even as she spoke.

"I will be going, and there really isn't anything any of you can do to stop me, now is there?" he asked coldly. The threat inherent in that question was obvious.

Now, Storm was not accustomed to backing down - not at all, but she found herself shrinking back from the slender form of John Allerdyce and nodding.

"I guess… not, "she acquiesced.

"Good."

The blackness bled away into the well known green-tinged brown and John shook his head in what looked like regret.

"I'm sorry, Storm," he said quietly but determinedly. "But you don't know what you're dealing with here. We do not have the time to consider what the police might and might not do right now. I realise this is your territory, but you're deluding yourself if you think you're the one running this show."

"Now wait just a goddamned minute, kid," Logan growled, breaking free of the near shock he had just experienced and stepping forward. "You can't just…"

"I can, Logan," Pyro said and turned his face to the Wolverine. "And I am. This is a joint venture now."

"He's right, Wolverine," Mystique added, her voice strangely shaken. "We cannot ignore the advantage Pyro's new…status gives us. Not to use that advantage would be foolish."

"That might be, Blue," he growled waving a hand idly as if to dismiss her point, "but power isn't enough to lead. He hasn't got the…"

"The training? The knowledge?" Pyro interrupted him. At Logan's terse nod, he continued. "But I do, Logan. I have every bit the same training Jean had. I know Magneto better than you do, better than anyone but Mystique and Toad. I am more than capable, and you know it."

"Like hell I do!"

"You do, but you misunderstand me," Pyro said in an even voice. "This is not a hostile takeover. I just wanted to point out that Storm really isn't in a position to give any of us orders." He motioned to the other two Brotherhood members. "We are equal partners here, we are not untried children. You've gotta understand this, or we will have a hell of a time working together."

The silence was tense as Pyro and Wolverine's eyes did battle across the room. Finally they broke eye contact and Pyro faced the principal, eyebrows raised in question.

Storm sighed. "Fine, John, fine. But please take care not to make a spectacle out of yourself."

Toad snickered and she turned to look at him. "What is so funny, Toad?" she bit out, clearly at the end of her tether.

The green skinned mutant gave her a cocky smile and repeated: "Don't make a spectacle? We're not the ones running around in bloody matching uniforms and shite!"

Mystique chose that time to remind him: "Oh, but we will be, Mortimer, dear."

Toad's crestfallen expression seemed to break the almost painful tension in the room and everyone shared a nervous chuckle.

**-()-**

Half an hour later, same place.

The X-men were all present in the office, leaving it quite crowded. There hadn't been enough chairs, so Piotr had given his up for 'Leetle Catya' as he liked to call Kitty from time to time. He was standing quite comfortably behind her like a looming mountain of muscle.

Bobby was fairly certain that the Russian mutant was developing something of a crush on the lively girl, even if she was three years his junior. Piotr of course was as stoical as ever and never let anything on at all. He had his arms loosely at his sides and seemed to be listening intently to Storm and, strangely enough Mystique, go through the profiles of the Brotherhood members most likely to be involved in the 're-acquisition' of the defecting mutants.

Mystique was speaking in even controlled tones, seemingly completely at ease with briefing 'operatives' as she kept calling them. She had just finished explaining Undine's use of water to create concussive force and Bobby raised his hand.

"Yes, Iceman?" she said.

"I was wondering," he began, shifting under Mystique's yellow eyed scrutiny. "If Undine activates her powers by turning into water, what would the effect of freezing her be? I mean, would it kill her?"

Mystique took a moment to think this over. "I'm not sure," she said and then turned to John, who was sitting beside him with Marie on his lap. "Pyro, you've sparred with Undine. What do you think?"

"Well," John started frowning a little. "When I threw fire at her, she seemed to evaporate a little but not much more. She did have scorch marks when she turned back, though, so I suppose that she is affected by outside thermal interference. Whether or not she would die from being frozen I don't know, but it's likely she won't be able to revert to human form. Ice should paralyze her, if you pile it on thick enough."

Mystique nodded. "Does that answer your question, Iceman?"

Bobby did a few calculations in his head. "Does her mass increase as she shifts?" he asked.

"No it does not," Mystique answered.

"Does she turn into fresh- or salt water?"

"Salt," John said with a wince. At Bobby's questioning look he added: "She tried to drown me once. Not fun."

"Was that all?" Mystique said.

"Yes, thank you," Bobby said and continued the equation to determine how much thermal energy he would need to effectively freeze Undine's water form solid.

"Moving on to Magneto's next asset, Sabretooth…"

"He's _alive_?" Logan growled his fists clenching in fury. He well remembered the animalistic Brotherhood member; remembered him very well.

"Yes, he's quite alive," Mystique said with a smirk. "He was up North recruiting during the Alcatraz incident, I believe."

The Wolverine cracked his knuckles in anticipation. "He's mine."

"Actually, Logan," Storm corrected. "He's yours and Toad's. Toad's mobility will help make up for Sabretooth's speed."

"Yeah," Toad cackled. "I'll hold 'im an' you punch. I always wanted to take the bastard on for size, an' together, we're much bigger than him!" The green skinned mutant rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"Aren't you out of practise, Toad?" Logan asked doubtfully, looking at Mortimer's scarred appendages.

Toad cocked his head to one side, looking almost birdlike for a moment and then answered: "Nah, not really. Been doin' a lot of practisin' lately. Ain't nothing much to do otherwise."

"Just try to keep up, Frog-man," Logan grumbled, clearly put out by Storm thinking he needed help.

The weather goddess shook her head almost fondly at the bantering, unknowingly mimicking Mystique who was doing the exact same thing next to her.

"So, we're clear?" she asked looking around at what she still thought of as 'her' team. Everybody nodded, but she went over the plan once again:

"We're expecting the Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver and Cypher with the possible addition of more. If an extraction becomes necessary as it almost certainly will, we could be facing any and all of the following Brotherhood members: Sabretooth- physical fighter, Undine-aqua kinetic, Mastermind-psionisist, Carbon-mimic, Force-force fields and concussive blasts, Acidity- acid bolts and -blood and Azrael – bio manipulator. We may even be facing Magneto himself. You all know who will face whom in any of the possible scenarios. Our new arrivals should be on approach now, so let's suit up and get out there."

As the team started to stand up, she added: "And be careful."

People nodded. This was for real. Magneto had assembled a team of killers. Every one of their potential adversaries had at least one kill to their name and some had a lot more. John, Rogue and Bobby made their collective ways to the underground part of the Institute, where the uniforms and other X-men equipment was stored. The mood was sombre.

"Are you okay with this, Rogue?" John asked when they stepped off the elevator and she still hadn't said a word. She seemed to be far away, thinking what looked to be deep thoughts. At his words, her eyes snapped up to his in surprise. She looked almost faint.

He paused in the hallway.

Both Rogue and Bobby stopped when Pyro did, letting Piotr and Kitty pass them and leave them alone in the corridor. Rogue's head was bowed and she didn't speak for a while.

"Babe?"

"I'm okay, Johnny, really," she at last answered. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Her tone was not at all convincing, and she was rather pale, even for her. He thought he understood the reason for that.

Putting an arm around her, he said: "Well…it's not like you've seen actual combat before, right? I mean, not as an active participant."

She just frowned, and didn't respond. He continued, needing an answer. This was important: "Will you be okay with using your powers offensively, Rogue? Because you might have to."

Bobby's eyes became alive with something resembling protectiveness at John's factual and, to his mind, near callous tone. Over Rogue's bowed head, the two males shared a quick look that wasn't entirely friendly.

_You're pushing it, _Bobby's eyes seemed to say.

_Back off. I've got this, _John's shot back.

Finally, Rouge met the eyes of her boyfriend and responded in a shaky voice: "I don't know, Johnny. I mean, I don't know any of the people we'll be fighting. I don't know if they…"

"If they deserve it?" he finished for her, phrasing it like a question and not the fact he knew it really was.

She shrugged, looking miserable and a bit embarrassed.

"Rogue, there's nothing wrong with not wanting to hurt anyone," Bobby began.

"Yes there is, man." John looked at his best friend, his eyes chilly.

Both the other teens looked at him in surprise and dismay. Pyro found himself rather irritated with the both of them. Didn't they realise what they were getting into?

They obviously didn't, and the former terrorist gave an involuntary shudder.

_How many of these people feel that way, I wonder. Will I really be going into battle with this attitude at my back?_

"Iceman," he said, "if you're going to fight, then fight! Don't start this bleeding heart shit now."

Bobby recoiled a bit and Marie took a step back from him and stared wide eyed at the two of them. Pyro sneered internally; whether she knew it or not, she had placed herself next to her ex-boyfriend, the two of them facing him.

…_And again I'm the bad guy. Typical_

Some guys might have tried smoothing things over with their friends at this point, but Pyro wasn't most guys. In fact, he prided himself on trying his damnedest _not_ to be; so, instead of pulling back his scathing words or, God forbid, apologising, he looked at both of them impassively.

"Look, I normally wouldn't give a damn about the X-man patented tree-hugging, 'save-the-day', 'with power comes responsibility' attitude," he said, voice even and unapologetic. "But it just so happens I actually do give a damn about _you_."

_How can they not get it?_

_**Children. You see now why you had to leave them in the first place?**_

Neither of his friends' expressions changed, other than a small flicker in Rogue's eyes. He really hadn't expected any better, but still he felt a small tinge of disappointment, which he ruthlessly suppressed. Now was not the time.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply.

_All this sighing, one would think I was a damned Brontë heroine. Fuck it all!_

"You know what?" he finally said, voice deadpan. "Never mind. If you guys want to pretend you're aboard the Starship Enterprise, go ahead. Just remember that Brotherhood phasers don't have a 'stun' function."

With those parting words, he left them standing there and walked away.

He needed to talk to someone who might be able to get through to them; someone who actually _had_ a functioning survival instinct. He needed to talk to Logan.

**-()-**

**About an hour later.**

Despite Pyro's intentions to get a few moments alone with the older man, it proved to be more difficult than anticipated. Logan was deep in conversation with Toad while they changed and got equipped, and Pyro had to content himself with a short whispered "I need a favour, Logan" as they walked through the gate to the jet. Wolverine gave him a look at his sour tone.

"You okay, kid?" he asked, casting a glance in the direction of Iceman and Rogue, who were walking together in front of them, well away from Pyro. Iceman hadn't said a word to Pyro in the changing room and for lack of better word, the atmosphere had been frosty.

_Teenagers and their issues, _he had thought at the time, but maybe it was something else entirely?

Pyro, looking nearly as uncomfortable in his uniform as Logan usually did, was walking with his head down, resolutely not looking at his two closest friends. His costume had been fitted with a hood in an attempt to at least keep his face somewhat hidden and he was wearing dark wrap-around, anti-flare glasses, making him look like something out of 'the Matrix'. Reading his expression was hard, but his body language spoke volumes.

"Oh, I'm fine, Wolverine, but those two," he said, nodding in the direction of the two others "are convinced this will be a friendly picnic."

The bitterness in the young man's voice could have curdled milk and Logan mentally winced. He always did think that war should be left to adults and he'd never quite agreed with the Professor's tradition of sending the very young into combat. Pyro had more than proven his willingness to use adequate force (and then some) but Bobby was at heart a humanitarian and Rogue…

"Ohh…" he said in realisation. "I get it."

"She has no _idea_, Logan," Pyro mumbled almost sadly, sounding like an old veteran watching young, fresh-faced recruits traipsing off to war.

"I'll look after them, Pyro," Logan said, placing a hand on the young man's hunched shoulder. "Just worry about your part of the plan; I've got their backs."

He received a subdued but relieved "thank you" just as they reached the Blackbird.

As the team started boarding, Pyro hung a bit behind with Toad who was stroking one of the plane's engines and practically purring in admiration. While absently making the correct noncommittal noises to complement Toad's gushing over the wonders of technology, he looked the team over and did a mental tally.

_Wolverine and Storm: not a problem. They're both seasoned fighters. Angel will be acting as a scout only – far from the action. Colossus is a soldier at heart, and he'll take care of Shadowcat. Iceman and Rogue…Jesus Christ almighty._

A feeling of dread spread through his body; he could not afford to loose either of them, never mind the cold terror that gripped his heart at thought of…

_No. It will not happen. Keep it together, Pyro!_

At least Mystique and Toad were there, both exuding the calm and easy leisure of well trained operatives. Mystique had shifted into a simile of a uniform, so tight and well fitted it could not possibly be real.

Toad was looking surprisingly comfortable in his outfit. He would be wearing a mesh stocking-cap and goggles to make up for his lacking low-light vision, if he had to fight in the dark. The end result would be not unlike the soldiers who had attacked the Mansion, Pyro thought: All black, stealthy death. It suited him

Pyro's own uniform had all the stiffness of new leather. The top was of the same basic cut as Iceman's, except for the hood, which he kinda liked, and the trim: red in stead of light blue. In the changing room, he had taken one look at the rest of the costume: what looked like tight black motorcycle pants and an honest to God codpiece and thought 'oh Hell no!' He was now wearing ordinary black leather pants and heavy combat boots; apart from the leather, it wasn't so far removed from his ordinary attire.

At Storm's disapproving look he'd simply told her that he had no intention of going into battle, much less potentially dying, looking like a damned idiot.

All together, he felt more comfortable than he'd thought he would.

Just as Wolverine was sticking his head out of the plane and gruffly asking them if they were coming, all three former Brotherhood members felt a distinct tingling in their right hands. The itching turned into downright burning in about two seconds and Toad and Pyro looked at each other in alarm.

The others were in trouble.

Sprinting onto the Blackbird, they hurriedly strapped themselves into the seats as Mystique was barking coordinates to Storm. The plane rose up and emerged from the basketball court, speeding out into the midday sunlight.

**TBC**

**Next time on Tabula Rasa: Chapter 23 – Valoofle's choice**

**Please! **_**Review!**_** It's no fun if I don't hear from you. As usual, please leave more than one sentence.**

**Ebon Hush**


	23. The Fun Has Arrived!

**Disclaimer: **Uhh… I own my computer, and that's about it.

**A/N: **This is the chapter dedicated to - and named by - the ever lovely Valoofle, who gives great reviews (hint hint). This is for you! Also as always, a great big thank you to those who take the time to make writing worth the while: the reviewers!

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 23: The Fun Has Arrived!**

Last time on Tabula Fucking Rasa:

"**You know what?" he finally said, voice deadpan. "Never mind. If you guys want to pretend you're aboard the Starship Enterprise, go ahead. Just remember that Brotherhood phasers don't have a 'stun' function."**

**-()-**

**A feeling of dread spread through his body; he could not afford to loose either of them, never mind the cold terror that gripped his heart at thought of…**

**-()-**

**Just as Wolverine was sticking his head out of the plane and gruffly asking them if they were coming, all three former Brotherhood members felt a distinct tingling in their right hands. The itching turned into downright burning in about two seconds and Toad and Pyro looked at each other in alarm. **

**The others were in trouble.**

_**No. It will not happen. Keep it together, Pyro!**_

And now, the continuation:

They landed in what looked like a cut scene from 'Transformers'. Cut for mature content, that is.

Mystique surveyed the surroundings from above as they set down on top of an abandoned building in an old industrial part of town. Car wrecks and garbage littered the ground and dust was continually whirled up in what looked like a miniature tornado, sweeping debris along as it moved around and around a glowing orb of force, stopping Force in his tracks.

Telltale streaks of malevolent red energy pulsed again and again from behind a broken down SUV where she could just make out two shapes, one of them in red. Wanda was in full combat mode, it would seem, repeatedly hitting two figures who were trying to approach her position.

_Wanda and Pietro, _she thought. _Both still active._

The wrecked car the Scarlet Witch was using as cover was pockmarked by large holes, some of them obviously still sizzling. She recognised the handiwork of Acidity, and made a mental note to push that bastard off a very tall building at the very first chance she got. She was supposed to deal with him, she knew, on account of she was the best at dodging. As she watched, Acidity, clad entirely in a disgusting lime green jumpsuit flung another blob of hissing fluid at the car, taking out most of the back end.

The other figure Wanda was targeting seemed to be made entirely of water – Undine, then. The Hex bolts were causing her to continuously loose her fluid shape, rendering her useless. Good.

_Where are Azrael, Sabretooth and Mastermind?_ Mystique wondered, somewhat worried. Carbon, if he was there, could be anywhere and pretty much anything, and Mastermind was always a bitch to deal with.

The whereabouts of one of the missing mutants was made clear as Sabretooth came barrelling out from behind a dilapidated brick wall and hurled himself at the car. As she hurriedly strapped herself out of her seat, following the rest of the team who were already on their way down a fire escape to join the fight, a truck came to life, seemingly on its own, and hammered full throttle into her former team mate.

_Cypher. He must be the other one behind the car._

Sabretooth pounded into the ground, flung several feet by the impact, and twenty feet from him, a sedan revved up and approached hastily from the other side. The giant mutant made it to his feet in time, though, bracing for impact. He caught the sedan and the small vehicle was brutally thrown aside. Sabretooth roared in victory and rage.

As he again began running for Cypher and Wanda's meagre cover, the Scarlet Witch was forced to break off her attack on her two original targets, and with a yell she hurled a Hex bolt at the ground in front of the giant mutant, making the earth tremble violently and knocking him over. Unfortunately, the move also disrupted Pietro's footing and his speed-created vortex slowed somewhat.

This was going south fast!

"Angel, report," Mystique barked into her mike and ran from the Blackbird.

Angel's POV:

Warren was soaring high over the battlefield looking, searching. He felt the air running over his wings cool, as Storm rose above him and summoned thick, black clouds. Lightning started to crackle and thunder roared, making him glad that his earpieces came with an earplug-like function.

"Angel, report." Mystique's voice sounded in his left ear.

"Quicksilver seems to be down for the count. Force and Azrael are behind the round force field, no longer contained. He's a sitting duck out there, Mystique; he isn't moving!"

Casting about for the rest of the Brotherhood mutants, he noticed a shadow creeping along a wall very near his team's position.

"There' someone behind you, Wolverine, five o'clock," he said, almost yelling in excitement. He got no response. "Wolverine? Logan?"

The reason for the lack of reply became clear as he frantically looked around again: Wolverine was already sprinting for Sabretooth, claws out and ready. On a wall behind and above the enraged Canadian, Toad was stealthily moving into position.

"Colossus," he tried instead. "There's someone behind you, five o'clock."

He saw the big Russian turn in alarm and heard him say: "But there is no one there!"

How could they not see him? Angel thought frantically. The guy was right behind them, a big man with what looked like a bazooka strapped to, or perhaps growing out of, each arm. As Warren watched in alarm, the figure looked up and took aim. Straight at him.

"Oh hell!" Angel cursed and tried to evade the volley as two massive missiles soared towards him.

"Storm!"

Storm'S POV:

Storm was gathering the clouds above her, making them slide together and create enough electricity to give her an ample amount of ammunition, when she heard Angel's frantic yell. As she whipped her head around to look for him, she saw his still form fall from the sky.

"Warren!" she shouted and dove in an attempt to intercept him. She reached the winged mutant in the nick of time, catching him only a few feet from the ground. He was completely still, blood staining his lips.

"No…" she whispered brokenly. He was supposed to have been safe!

Gathering all her self control, she clenched her jaw, and the sky rumbled in response to her anger.

"Angel is down, repeat, Angel is down," she said firmly into the mike strapped to her throat. "I've got lookout, Mystique, you're in command."

"Affirmative." The calm voice of the assassin sounded over the comm. unit, clearly audible over the frightened and/or outraged gasps of the others.

As Storm gently laid Angel's head back on the ground and rose into the sky, Pyro's voice sounded in her ear.

"What happened, Storm?"

"I don't know, Red," she answered, using the agreed alternative to his real name. "He just fell down."

"It's Mastermind," Pyro responded, sounding certain. "He'll be hiding somewhere around here."

There was a short pause and then he asked: "Mystique, permission to pursue?"

Mystique's POV:

"Mystique, permission to pursue?"

She closed her eyes for a moment to think where she was standing behind a corner in the process of sneaking up behind Acidity and Undine with Iceman at her back, both of them taking full advantage of Wanda's continued but rapidly weakening attacks on their opponents. Rogue was hidden behind the two X-men with a pair of IR-binoculars, searching for the tell-tale body heat that would give Carbon away, no matter what form he took.

Toad and Wolverine were enthusiastically tag-teaming Sabretooth to her left and Colossus had moved in on Force and Azrael, the latter of whom was intently focused on Quicksilver.

Magneto's son was curled into a ball at the biomanipulator's feet, shaking and after just a few seconds of intense pain, too far gone to even scream.

From where she was standing Mystique could see that Azrael's black energy was centred on a small cut above Pietro's right elbow that was now bleeding fiercely. She thought she could hear the black clad mutant chuckle, as he mercilessly augmented the pain from the injury to a level no human could possibly stand for long.

She turned her comm. onto the general frequency, hoping to God that Cypher would pick up the sound waves and said: "Tell the Scarlet Witch to deal with Azrael, Cyph. I've got your back."

"Thank God. What took you so long, Blue?" was the immediate reply.

A few seconds passed and suddenly Wanda's head whipped around, blue eyes zeroing in on her fallen brother.

"Pietro!" the young woman yelled in horror and surprise. As she turned her furious attention to Azrael, the ground began to shake, waves of entropic energy rippling from her slight form.

"Sukin Syn!" Wanda cursed, reverting to using the language of her parents. She flung out her arms, just as Azrael looked up at her. As the Hex bolt temporarily negated the existence of Force's powers, it hit the biomanipulator head on, and the tall dark haired mutant was flung back fifty feet, slamming into a wall behind him.

Faster than Mystique had thought he'd be, Colossus came running from her left and used the drop in Force's power level to slam the large kinetic to the ground. The Russian wasted no time before starting to grimly pound steel covered fists into Force's face and torso.

_Well done, Wanda, dear, _Mystique thought fondly.

"Red," she called. "Permission granted. Watch your back."

Turning to the young man behind her, she asked: "Iceman, are you ready?"

Bobby just nodded, a grim expression on his face.

"Rogue," he said quietly into his mike. "Be careful."

"I will," she answered.

In an opened van, not very far away.

Mastermind was crouching, well hidden from his prey, as he watched the winged mutant fall from the sky only to be caught by the white haired mutant woman. He pulled a small superior smirk and thought to himself: _Too late, weather witch. That's one down, and I do believe you're next, Storm._

He was safe here, a good way from the main action, watching from afar through his mind's eye as Undine and Acidity turned to do battle with a young X-man and _Mystique_?

_So that's were she went. Traitor! _He thought angrily and was about to turn his illusionary power on his former compatriot as he felt more than saw a dark figure make its way slowly towards his hiding place. It was male, that much he could tell, but the face was obscured by a hood and dark glasses.

_Hmm… this one is new._

Mastermind threw out his insidious mental webs and weaved an illusion of a rift opening under the feet of the new threat.

_Goodbye, X-Man, _he thought gleefully, only to stare in surprise as the man leaped back, just as the earth sunk under him.

Pyro's POV:

He had watched the Wolverine tear into combat, mindless of his promise of only a few minutes earlier, with anger.

_Goddamnit, Logan! _he'd thought.

The sudden unplanned charge left Bobby and Rogue to fend for themselves and they'd both gone off with Mystique. Pyro hadn't been in any position to stop them; he wasn't the one in charge, and if there was one thing his time with the Brotherhood had taught him, it was not to break the chain of command during battle. No, all he could do now to protect them was to end this fight quickly.

He'd asked to go after Mastermind, because he knew he'd be able to sense heat signatures in spite of the powerful illusions he'd most likely be facing. Realistically, he was the only one able to take out the psionisist, who would otherwise be picking off the others, one at a time just as he had done with Angel.

Pyro had quickly spotted a dark van, not too far from the main fight that seemed out of place, simply in that it wasn't a piece of junk like the other vehicles around here. It was a likely hiding place: out of the way and mobile.

He was now making his way towards the car and absently adjusting the igniter he'd worn as a decoy on his right wrist. The Brotherhood didn't know about his upgrade and he'd take any advantage he could get. He could see that the backdoors of the van were opened and had just caught a glimpse of a figure inside, when the Phoenix screamed in his head:

_**Get back! Now!**_

He threw himself back and to the ground as a fissure several meters across opened up exactly where he'd been walking a moment before.

"Damn it," he hissed and got to his feet quickly.

Immediately, the building above him started shaking and he ran to the side, trying to dodge the wall of bricks that was suddenly falling on top of him.

"Shit, shit, shitshitshit!" he panted as he sprinted away from the falling house. He knew deep inside that it was only an illusion - not that it would make any difference; Mastermind's illusions were just as lethal as the real thing, usually.

As the rumbling behind him grew to cacophonic strength he realised: _I'm not going to make it._

_**Oh, yes we will! Stop running. **_

Mastermind's POV:

He cackled in joy as the brilliantly crafted illusory wall collapsed over the small, futilely running figure with all the punishing force of a tidal wave.

_Two dow… What?_

Suddenly the X-man turned and went to one knee; he seemed to punch the air with both fists, and a shock wave of infernal fire erupted from his hands to meet the falling mass of brick and mortar. Where the fire reached, nothing remained but ashes, drifting to earth in a fine powder, painting everything grey.

_No. That cannot be! _Mastermind thought in denial. No one had ever faced his powers with such ferocity. Who was this X-man?

As he watched in disbelief, the figure rose from the ashes and turned slowly back to face him. An aura of writhing flames seemed to envelop him, painting his now exposed hair a bright red. Mastermind could do nothing but stare as the figure started hovering a few feet above the cinder dust, arms outstretched, flames growing brighter. The vision was not unlike the nightmare visions of demons he'd used before that day, now turned upon him.

It was like looking at Death.

_Our father who art in Heaven…_

All the heat in the world seemed to gather around the fiery shape.

Mastermind began shivering.

_Hallowed be thy name…_

His world slowed to a crawl.

Slowly, ever so slowly, outstretched flame-covered arms started to close in front of the figure.

_Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done…_

Slender hands met with a clap of thunder and a line of pure Hellfire sped towards the van.

_On Earth…_

The flames crossed the fissure and slammed into the car, incinerating it completely in a matter of seconds.

_As it is in…_

Mastermind's world went blessedly dark.

On top of a building, not too far away:

All around him, his people were being pounded into submission by their opponents. Sabretooth was flailing about; blinded by the hardened spit Toad was so fond of using. Wolverine was merrily ripping long tears in his old enemy, while Mortimer's rapid attacks left him unbalanced.

Thirty feet away from them, Undine was futilely blasting away at Iceman, who kept freezing her attacks, breaking them in mid-air. As he watched, she was distracted by Mystique dodging in front of her, closely followed by a ball of acid. The aquakinetic was forced to dodge the lethal missile as well and as she did, Iceman caught her squarely with a ray of freezing air. Her liquid form rapidly started to coagulate, thickening as she turned to ice.

Acidity, now faced with two formidable opponents, and not just one, took the smart way out: he turned and ran.

_Maybe I underestimated the opposition…_ he thought, watching detachedly as a car drove itself up to Quicksilver, who crawled into the backseat. The vehicle sped away and parked itself behind the burned out SUV where the two other traitors were hiding.

The Scarlet Witch was pounding Azrael to the ground every time he was close to getting up, and he seemed to have trouble finding the time to heal him self.

It would seem that this battle was well and truly lost.

_Another day, then, X-men._

Movement in his peripheral vision made him turn around, and the cloaked figure watched in surprise as the van housing one of his most powerful minions went up in a fiery inferno.

_What is this?_

Searching the ground hastily, he discovered the origin of the blaze: a small black clad figure, slowly straightening, standing in the middle of a charred circle thirty feet in radius. The black leather costume was new, but the fire certainly wasn't.

_Pyro, my dear boy. Alive and well and up to no good. This won't do at all…_

As he manipulated the magnetic field around his metal laced costume and lifted himself into the air, he called out over his communication device: "Hold for thirty seconds and pull out."

_Just enough time for a quick hello._

Rogue's POV:

She was crouched behind her cover, looking, looking. All around her the sounds of battle filled the air and her heart was pounding like crazy, threatening to choke her. She had heard the roar of fire a few seconds earlier and knew that Pyro had joined battle.

Rogue had firmly squashed her desire to turn around and try to see what was going on. She needed to stay alert.

She had almost decided that Carbon was a no-show and decided to join the others to help in some way, when the heat sensitive binoculars caught the faintest fluctuation of heat further down the alley.

A patch of wall, not fifteen feet from her was slightly warmer than its surroundings. It had to be him.

_This is it, Marie, _she thought to herself, trying to gather her courage.

She hated to admit it, but the Brotherhood wasn't pulling any punches. Mystique had been strafed a few times and even though the acid burns instantly cauterized, the assassin wasn't moving as fast as she had been. Colossus actually looked dented and Kitty had been knocked about once or twice by stray force blasts and torrents of water. The younger girl was bleeding from several cuts after having been rammed into a wall, before she'd been able to phase through them. She was staying well away from the combatants, waiting for an opening she could use.

Everyone else was busy.

Rogue purposely averted her eyes as she took off her gloves and pretended to ready herself to run in and join Mystique's fight with Acidity. She knew that the mimic preferred to use his shifting ability to sneak up and ambush his opponents. She was the perfect target, as she was supposed to be, as per the plan hastily laid by Mystique: alone, small and apparently unarmed.

_Come on, then… come on, _she thought nervously.

"Well well… little girly all alone."

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she looked behind her in not entirely faked fear. The speaker was a tall, thin man with skin that was rippling back into its proper colour, patches of concrete grey still apparent.

Rogue hadn't been sure that she was ready for this back at the Institute; her well ingrained fear of her own power doing furious battle with her need to be out there, helping the others. She had never been a violent person and she wasn't thrilled with the idea of hurting anyone at all. But now, seeing her friends fight for their lives and looking into the face of a murderer who was practically salivating at the thought of an easy kill, she could easily say that John had been right: they deserved it!

All of it.

Had she been alone, she wasn't sure she could have found the courage for what happened next, but she wasn't alone; she was the Rogue, and even if Marie wasn't strong enough or brave enough, she had someone with her who was.

"You just picked the wrong girl to tangle with, Bub," she smiled and grimly planted her bare hand squarely in the middle of Carbon's forehead.

As her power started to rip away his strength, Carbon paled in fear.

Caught in the throes of Carbon's rippling energy, she threw her head back and gasped; that is when she saw a dark figure glide over head, heading for the still-burning van behind her.

Pyro's POV:

He was staring in avid fascination at the towering flames in front of him, Pyro and Phoenix finally in agreement on something. A small happy smile was playing about his lips as he idly built the flames a bit higher, just because he could.

_Crash and burn, motherfucker! _he thought as the illusions Mastermind had so carefully weaved faded and then disappeared.

Pyro chuckled, barely resisting the urge to laugh outright. He felt great, he felt powerful. A part of him wanted to blame the Phoenix, but he really couldn't. Fire just made him giddy.

_**Wait. There's something…**_ The Phoenix's hissed words were all the warning he got as his metal igniter suddenly crumpled up, contracting painfully around his wrist. As he turned around in alarm, the flames behind him instantly died; they had only been feeding off air, after all. The van was long gone.

Pyro faced the cloaked form behind him, head held high as Magneto landed a few feet away, an array of metallic shrapnel whirling around him.

"Pyro, my boy," the older man said sedately. "So good to see you up and about. I was afraid we'd lost you at Alcatraz."

Pyro scoffed at Magneto's words.

_Good to see you, my ass!_

"Yeah, I made it off the island, no thanks to you, old man," he said, unbuckling his broken igniter.

The leader of the Brotherhood shook his head sadly.

"You did not come to the rendezvous point, Pyro. Of course I assumed you had been lost. Had I known…"

"Had you _known_? Oh please, like you even care," the young man snorted contemptuously. "Don't bullshit me, Magneto. Don't even try to make me believe you had any more trouble leaving me behind then you did leaving Mystique in the hands of the fucking military!"

Magneto held up a hand. "I realise you're bitter, Pyro," he started.

_Is he kidding?_

"Bitter?" Pyro asked, smiling. "I'm not bitter, hell I should be _thanking_ you! Nothing like the ugly truth to make one realise one's mistakes."

Magneto folded his arms, looking at his young protégé with interest. The boy was much too confident, considering he was unarmed…

Magneto chalked it down to Pyro's typical, almost pathological need to appear in control.

"And which mistakes would those be?" he asked. "Fighting for the survival of your race? Becoming all that you could be? Tell me, Pyro, where _would_ you be if I hadn't offered you an opportunity to shrug of the burdensome vestiges of humanity Charles had you clinging to?"

_**Someone else is coming, little Firestarter.**_

"Where would I be?" Pyro said, pretending to actually think about it.

His heat-sense alerted him to the approach of the chameleon-type mutant, in the form of a rapidly moving pile of gravel, who was sidling up behind Magneto, unnoticed by the older mutant.

He flexed his hand a little, getting ready to fight. Revealing his new ability to create flames would not be ideal right then, but he'd be damned if he let the old bastard get the drop on him.

The gravel rose up from the ground behind Magneto, taking a very familiar shape. He was still wary, though, casting veiled looks at Rogue's form, so as to not alert his former leader. Maybe he wasn't the only one who'd gotten an upgrade.

As her face finished shifting back from grey to flesh colour, she smiled a little and mouthed 'Johnny'.

_Rogue._

Pyro smirked, knowing that, finally, she had his back.

"I'll tell you where I would be, _Erik,_" he spat, flicking a spec of dust off the X that was so clearly evident on his uniform. "I'd be right were I am now: where I belong!"

Magneto's eyes flashed angrily and a few pieces of metal stopped in the air and formed sharp projectiles. "I'm so sorry you feel that way, my boy." Any pretence of friendliness was gone from his voice.

As he was getting ready to impale the young man who had been one of his most promising acolytes, a voice sounded over the general frequency in both their headsets.

"The Brotherhood is breaking away."

They both looked up as several big, metallic spheres soared overhead and out of sight.

Storm was flying after them but paused near their position, hovering with lightning crackling at her fingertips. From behind them, Wolverine and Colossus came pounding towards the three grounded mutants. Magneto seemed to hear their approach and turned, only to finally spot Rogue right behind him.

"Seems like you're outnumbered, Magneto," Pyro remarked easily a smile on his face.

"For now," Magneto agreed, clenching his fists. The shrapnel surrounded him in an instant and formed into a sphere like the ones his people had fled in.

Storm instantly hurled a bolt of lightning at it, but it was already rising into the air and rocketing away, faster than she could follow.

Before he knew what hit him, he had an armful of Rogue, who was gasping the word 'Johnny' over and over.

Pleased that she was talking to him again, he put his arms around her and held on tight, lifting her a little of the ground.

"Shh… I'm okay. It's okay," he whispered into her hair.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Well, that was fun, right? I've decided to end it there, as the next chapter will be a change of pace.

A few chapter notes: 

"Sukin Syn" roughly translates into 'son of a bitch' in Polish, but can be understood by most speakers of Russian and the Baltic languages.

For a visual of the 'slow motion clapping move' that kills Mastermind, imagine Apocalypse's concussive blast in the episode where he wakes up in X-men: Evolution.

**A/N2:**

Action is HARD! I don't know what possessed me to write a seventeen-way fight sequence, I must be mad. **Please please please, tell me what you think!** My review count has gone way down, and I'm starting to loose confidence here!

As always, please give me more than one sentence! All reviews over that length will be responded to.

**Next time on Tabula Fucking Rasa – Chapter 24: Fear and Loathing in Westchester.**

**Ebon Hush**

**P.S. REVIEW! (and feel free to comment on the last chapter as well, I only got twelve –whine-)**


	24. Fear and Loathing in Westchester

**Disclaimer: I do not have Pyro stashed in my closet, therefore I do not own X-Men.**

**A/N: **Yes, yes. So it's been forever! I hope you're still with me. This chapter is dedicated to Elirrina, who has reviewed Every Single Chapter!!!! and Katie (MelKat-Productions) who has just made a trailer for this story, which ROCKS so much!(check her out on youtube, the link is at the bottom of my profile page).

All your lovely reviews and constructive comments have really helped me get this chapter finished and they mean the world to me, every single one! Keep them coming! I love you! (sobs) Ahem (pulls self together) here's the next (long awaited chapter). We continue the action a few minutes after the end of chapter 23.

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 24: Fear and Loathing in Westchester.**

"'I'll look after them'?" Logan barely had time to register the words before a slender hand grabbed his shoulder and he was forcefully turned around to face a truly infuriated Pyro.

"'I'll LOOK AFTER THEM?'" the young man repeated, words coming out half-choked with rage. "You said you had their backs, you self-centred, idiotic, overly-impulsive excuse for a…"

"Pyro, that's enough!" Storm ground out from where she was crouched over an immobile Angel. Her words didn't seem to penetrate, though, and John went on ranting, as if she hadn't spoken.

Logan finally seemed to get with the program and shrugged off the young man with a snarl.

"Calm the hell down, kid, they're fine."

"Fine? FINE?" the boy's voice cracked a little, tilting into a slightly hysterical tenor. On a normal day, such an occurrence would have had him covering the slip at any cost, but he didn't even pause. "You left Rogue to deal with a known murderer alone! He could have…She could have been…" He took a deep breath. "You ever pull something like that again; I swear to God, I'll…"

"You'll what?" Logan growled, pulling himself up to full height. "You'll kill me, Pyro? Yeah, not gonna happen, so get it the fuck together and stop acting like a child!"

A small flame flickered to life and played about the young man's fingertips. Logan sneered.

"You can't hurt me, boy!"

Pyro's eyes went cold, and the flame died.

"You're right, what can _I_ do?" He asked tensely. "How can I hurt an invulnerable man who doesn't care for anyone but himself?" The words were delivered in a voice absolutely devoid of warmth.

Logan scoffed. "Hey! I care, alright? It just wasn't… I don't have to justify myself to you, but I had to think of the team!"

The older man's blood surged hotly as Pyro mimicked his disdainful look exactly.

"Yeah, whatever, man," the young man sneered, and continued in a voice dripping with vitriol. "Come on, Logan; 'the team'? You mean the 'team' you only joined because you hoped to score with Jean? The team you've left time and time again as it struck your fancy? You're such a trooper…"

"That's enough!" The metallic hiss of claws being extended sliced through the silence, and the rest watched in shock as Wolverine surged forward to grab Pyro by the front of his uniform, hand fisting in the dusty leather. He pulled the pyrokinetic close, bringing them face to face and nearly lifting the younger man off his feet.

The older mutant felt post-battle adrenalin and pure fury coursing through his veins. The Wolverine was in firm control of Logan's faculties and didn't even care to listen to the part of him that was screaming that this was wrong wrong wrong!

"Logan!" Storm's voice cut through the red haze flooding his vision.

"Stay out of this, Ororo!" he ground out, tightening his fists. He didn't have time for her, didn't notice the cool voice of Mystique, as she told her to leave them to it, or Storm's outraged rebuttal. They were not important right now. The Wolverine only had time for his adversary, the young male held in its grasp, who'd dared to challenge him.

"You wanna talk about leaving the team, Pyro? I chose to come back, which is more than you did! Let's not forget who was on which side of the battlefield." He snarled the words, knowing that they would hurt, knowing they would hit home.

The human part of him winced right along with the young man in his grasp, even as the animal part of him rejoiced in the fleeting look of pain that passed over Pyro's features. The small victory gave his human side enough control to retract the claws.

_I know you're upset, but back down, Pyro. Just back the fuck down, before this gets out of hand!_

He really should have known better.

Pyro's eyes hardened and that infuriating smirk made an appearance.

"Uh…Huh… Let's see," the boy started conversationally, sceptically; obviously not appreciating the severity of his situation. "You joined because of Jean, you left to go after her and you came back because of… oh yeah, Jean again. Could it be that you only stay to 'honour her memory' or some such shit?"

Logan's eyes narrowed. With less than three inches separating their faces, this didn't go unnoticed by Pyro, who continued as if speaking to a small and rather slow child – a voice that was purely Phoenix.

"That's not Esprit de Corp, Logan, that's libido…"

"You little BASTARD!"

Before Logan even had a chance to try and stop himself, he had pushed Pyro away and his claws were out again.

He was halfway through launching himself at the prone teenager when the end of Toad's staff slammed into his skull, knocking him back and Mystique yelled "Wanda!"

A red haze crackled to life around him and he Could. Not. Move. He tried again and again, but Wanda's power was messing badly with his muscles. He looked in surprise at the young girl, kneeling twenty feet away, her brother's head in her lap.

_Magneto's daughter,_ he remembered. _How is she doing this?_

Only one other person had ever been able to stop him in his tracks like this.

He had been hit with tranquilizers, strapped down by copper piping and restrained in a number of other ways, but being truly helpless? That was still new. Only Magneto had managed that feat until now.

Wanda's deep blue eyes were fixed on him with single minded determination, her left hand stretched out toward him while the other was unaffectedly stroking an unconscious Quicksilver's pale blond hair.

_Oh, right… he was injured._

"You will not touch him," the young women said matter-of-factly in a voice carrying the same accented tinge as Piotr's, only much stronger. Peter had mostly lost his tendency to turn 'w's into 'v's, but Wanda hadn't.

While Logan had been busy trying to get his treacherous limbs to move, Rogue had reacted and made her way to Pyro's side, where she was now crouched next to him. The young woman had taken off her gloves and was holding his hand, whispering to him he trembled and breathed deeply. The knuckles of the hand not gripping hers were white from the strain as he squeezed it into a tight fist, a few drops of blood and what looked like fluid fire oozing through the gaps in his fingers.

Logan experienced a brief almost-flicker of memories long buried of gunfire and liquid that burned.

_Looks like napalm…_

Logan had originally thought that the boy was hurt, but the shaking – the fists – that wasn't pain, no. That was fury.

"_She is a being of pure joy… and rage." _He remembered.

"Calm down, calm down, calm down. I'm right here. I'm not hurt, Johnny. It's okay… shh. It's okay," Marie was whispering, her words going unnoticed by all but Pyro, who was right next to her, and Logan, who suddenly felt like he was intruding.

"You can let go now, Red," he grumbled at Wanda. "I'm not gonna gut the boy."

Wanda raised a finely sculpted eyebrow and smiled. The look was purely Magneto and Logan felt a small chill make its way up his spine.

"You will be careful of your actions, Wolverine. I will be watching."

The words, so self assured, so confident, did not fit the doll-like young woman. She couldn't be more than a few years older than Rogue and the boys, but an air of pure menace surrounded her like a barbed shroud. Meeting Logan's eyes with a flat out glare, deep blue eyes burning into his brown ones, she made a 'hmph'-like sound and Logan could move again.

Pyro was getting to his feet, not once looking in his direction, his eyes focused solely on Rogue. He was looking her over in a way that was both concerned and possessive, cataloguing her physical condition with the practised eye of a medical doctor. Finally satisfied he put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her gently before letting go and walking over to where Angel lay on the dusty ground.

**-()-**

As Pyro and Storm got busy loading the fallen mutant onto a stretcher that Mystique and Toad had gotten off the plane, and Piotr filed by with a weakly protesting Kitty in his massive arms, Bobby walked over to the two twenty-something ex-Brotherhood members and knelt down next to Wanda.

The young woman was watching over her brother like a hawk and moved a little to the side when he got near them, shielding Pietro from view. Even sitting in the dust, awkwardly cradling the unconscious boy, she moved with a fluid grace that spoke of a childhood spent either dancing or fighting. Bobby somehow doubted that she was the ballet-type.

He cast a quick sideways glance at Toad and Mystique, both of whom carried them selves in the same way. He couldn't help but remember his own early years, safe with his family, no worries beyond pimples and proms.

"I'm Bobby… err Iceman," he started, using his mutant name, thinking of John's insistence on 'true names' after joining the Brotherhood. "Would you like me to help you carry your brother?" he offered politely.

The Scarlet Witch surveyed him coolly, sizing him up in a single look.

"You are Pyro's friend, yes?"

"Yes, yes I am," he replied timidly, remembering her remote-telephone-crashing skills with trepidation. He wasn't so sure being Pyro's friend was a good thing in her book.

His fears came to nought, though as she just nodded once and transferred her brother's form to his arms. "You will not drop him, Iceman." The 'or else' was not necessary, as it was very, very clear from her tone just what would happen to him if he did.

She need not have worried, though, as Pietro didn't weigh more than a kid half his age should. The boy was completely devoid of fat and seemed strangely compact, like he wasn't flesh and bone at all but sculpted completely from some lightweight metal, coated with skin the colour of doubled cream that was far too pale and smooth. Come to think of it, both of Magneto's children looked decidedly fey, like life sized dolls, shaped for ultimate attractiveness, but lacking warmth.

**-()-**

The exhausted mutants made their way to the Blackbird in a relatively orderly fashion. As they got into their seats, John relinquished his place to Wanda and busied himself with strapping Angel and Quicksilver into the back area, where stationary cots had been folded out for them. He was checking Angel's vitals with a faintly concerned frown on his face that faded completely as Logan walked by. The boy was studiously avoiding eye contact, not a submissive move, the Wolverine somehow knew, but more of a 'out of sight, out of mind' one.

Storm was sitting in the pilot's seat but she wasn't preparing to take off. Logan noticed that she kept looking back at the wounded Angel every few seconds. Her maternal instincts must be working overtime as one of her gentlest charges lay awkwardly on his side, utterly still, hardly breathing.

"Ororo, you okay?" he asked, putting a warm hand on her shoulder.

The white haired woman looked up at him and he wasn't really surprised to see tears glimmering in her eyes. She turned her eyes back to the rear of the plane, almost compulsively. He followed her gaze and met soft brown eyes - Jean's eyes in the face of the young man who housed her memories.

"Storm, why don't you come and help me relay information to Hank so he's ready for us when we get there?" John/Jean asked in a gentle voice, turning away from Logan. Forestalling the negative head shake she was about to give he continued: "Cypher can fly the plane."

The headmistress of Xavier's Institute eyed the young platinum-and-green haired young man who was sitting a few seats behind her absorbed in tapping rapidly on a keypad strapped to his arm.

She pulled herself together and asked: "Cypher?" The youth looked up at her with big golden brown eyes, his young face earnest and open – surprisingly guileless and not what one would expect in the company of hard-eyed Brotherhood mutants.

"Can you operate this plane?" she continued sceptically. The boy's age was impossible to determine; somewhere between sixteen and twenty five was her best guess. The smile that lit up his face at her question made him look all of thirteen.

"Sure!" he said, still smiling. His accent was pure California beach-bum, but he became all business when he continued: "Give me a moment."

Instantly his eyes blinked closed, and when he opened them again light blue geometric lights were scrolling across his retinas.

"Retrofitted stealth flyer, Blackbird T80 model, accessing flight controls…" he said in a strangely modified voice, devoid of infliction or accent. The engines purred to life. "Preparing for takeoff."

"Huh," was all she could think of to say and, ignoring Mystique's smug look, she got out of her seat and made her way to the rear.

As the plane lifted smoothly into the air, John started going over his patients' condition.

"Quicksilver will be fine with some rest. I've administered morphine to take the edge off any residual pain he might be experiencing. Angel is suffering from severe blunt force trauma to the torso. There are no external injuries to suggest a strike of sufficient force to cause it, but that is par for the cause when dealing with Mastermind," he informed her as he deftly readied an IV drip of some kind.

Storm looked at him questioningly, and he continued.

"The illusions brought into being by Mastermind's powers are real enough to basically fool the body. If he plants you in the middle of a steaming pile of shit, you _will_ puke your guts out at the smell.

"Will he be alright?" she asked, stroking the white blond hair back from the prone mutant's face. He looked even paler than usual and his eyes were weekly fluttering behind bruised-looking lids.

John shrugged. "Not certain at this point. He has a punctured lung, but there's nothing I can do about that right now. We need to get him to the Institute for a full scan."

"You're saying he could die?" Storm asked. Her voice was shaking and so were her hands where she had them clenched at her sides. Thunder rolled in the distance.

"Yes, he might," John answered. "At this point, time is of the essence."

"I'll kill that bastard," Storm snarled angrily, her word choice making John give her a sideways look.

"Too late, I'm afraid," he said sotto voce.

She turned to him. "You mean you…?"

He nodded, looking a little uncertain but not apologetic.

"Good," was her only comment.

Wanda, who had been listening from her seat turned to glare at Cypher. "This thing, it can move faster?" she asked.

A few lights blinked on the Blackbird's control panel and Cypher responded. "Affirmative. The Blackbird T80 model is capable of reaching a cruising speed of just above…"

"Nie pieprz bez sensnu, Cypher. Move faster!" she commanded imperiously and the plane roared forward, slicing through the sky like a bullet.

**-()-**

**Some hours later at the Institute, outside med-lab.**

Hank and John were moving in near-perfect synchronization around the operating theatre, their attention honed on their patient. They were exchanging a few words every now and then, but Logan couldn't hear them through the thick glass of the window separating him from the sterile room on the other side. Their movements weren't hurried anymore, though, so he guessed that Angel was almost out of the woods.

It was strange, seeing Pyro so focused on one task, displaying a controlled economy of movement. He was certainly putting Jean's memories to good use, even if Hank was the one handling the sterile tools as the boy handed them to him. They made a strange couple, the two 'Doctors'. Where the white operating gown made the Beast look like the Michelin Man, his fur bulging the material, it made John look ethereal, slender and almost as innocent as the young man they were working on.

Angelic, except for the blood staining his hands.

Logan shuddered.

"How's the lad doing?" Toad had sidled up next to Logan without him noticing, and the Wolverine groaned internally, cursing his inattentiveness.

"I have no idea," Logan admitted, still looking through the glass; watching, waiting for any sign that he had been noticed by the object of his scrutiny. There were none.

He turned to face Toad. "He hasn't said word to me since we boarded the plane, and I have no idea what's going on in his head at the best of times." He huffed a frustrated breath.

Toad was looking at him strangely.

"What?" Logan asked the green skinned man. Emotions were close to impossible to decipher from the look in those eerie yellow-and-black, pupil-less eyes.

"Pyro is a hard lad to figure out, true enough, mate. Don' worry about it; I was talking about the bird-boy, though."

"Oh." Logan looked back into the operating theatre, to avoid Toad seeing his slightly embarrassed face. "I think he'll be fine. They're closing up the incisions now, looks like."

Toad took a quick look at the two mutants working in tandem and smirked, his eyes crinkled with amusement.

"What's so funny about Angel lying broken and bleeding on a slab, Froggy?" Logan growled.

"Eh?" Toad snapped his eyes back to the Wolverine at his tone, instantly at near-battle readiness.

"What's. So. Funny?"

Logan wasn't sure who moved, but suddenly they were face to face, not even a foot separating them. The amusement had bled from Toad's face and he was facing the slightly taller man with all the confidence and easy grace of a trained and tried killer.

"Maybe you need to go take a wank an' calm down a wee bit, there, Wolf-man," he said evenly, even as he tilted his head in the time honoured male 'wanna-make-something-of-it?' fashion.

"And maybe the both of you need to move this conversation to a more suitable venue, say somewhere not here?" Mystique remarked coolly from where she was leaning against the wall ten feet behind Toad, all fake casualness.

"What conversation?" Toad asked lightly and stepped back; just as Logan was about to not so politely ask her to mind her own damn business.

"Toad, you can cackle about the Florence Nightingale jokes you're going to throw Pyro's way later," she said, moving between them and effectively putting a stop to the confrontation. "Cypher needs you in the control room."

"Lovely; I'm on my way." With that remark he turned on his heel and moved fluidly away from the seething Wolverine who watched him go with a scowl. With the green skinned mutant out of the way he turned his eyes on Mystique.

"I take it you're quite used to breaking up fights?" he remarked casually, breathing deeply trying to calm down.

She smiled and inspected her perfectly manicured nails. "Yes. A vital part of any army is chain of command and well… not every new Brotherhood member was soldier material. We had a lot of vying for position. Some of it was very ill advised," she said pointedly.

"Are you suggesting you just _saved_ me, Blue?" Logan asked raising incredulous eyebrows. "I could squash him like a bug."

It wasn't bragging on his part, not entirely. Logan was very confident that he could take Toad; the amphibian mutant had relatively harmless natural weapons and Logan could regenerate. Sure, Toad was an excellent fighter; he had superior speed and technique, as well as a quick and adaptable mind and a complete lack of conscience. The fight with Sabretooth had been won before it had even started, he was sure of that. Toad was far too mobile for the larger Brotherhood member, and the British fighter could probably have kept him more than occupied during the battle, but he didn't have Logan's stamina.

The Wolverine knew that toughness was the key to hand to hand fighting; it didn't really matter who threw the first punch, no. What mattered was who threw the last one.

Mystique was regarding him with interest. She had shifted out of her 'uniform' and she was carrying herself gracefully, comfortable in nothing but her skin. She was oozing confidence and a very female sense of danger.

Logan couldn't help but take notice of her shape, her face, the fullness of her lips. She was attractive, he had to admit, easily as alluring as Storm and even Jean, but it was an attraction he had no desire to act on.

He didn't even try to convince himself that it was because she was blue; oh, no. It had nothing to do with the colour and texture of her skin, but everything to do with the fact that she was a predator: as likely to bite his tongue out as kiss him back.

"Look, Wolverine," she started. "I am very sure that an opponent as Toad would cause you no trouble in a fair fight, hand to hand, mutant to mutant."

"Damn straight he wouldn't," Logan agreed.

"But," she held up her hand. "Here's the thing: Toad doesn't _do_ 'fair'. If you piss him off enough he will have no qualms about waiting till you're asleep and attacking you then. He's a very resourceful and competently trained _terrorist_ and even if you cannot die per se, you can feel pain, you can feel anguish and he _is_ very good at taking advantage."

Her yellow eyes held no amusement, only a strange intensity that might have been anger, might have been love, might have been pride, might have been… anything.

"And even if you should defeat him, there is the matter of the Q-directive."

Logan blinked, a little taken aback and a little insulted at the implied warning in her voice.

"The what?"

"The Q-directive," she repeated, "is the primary rule of the Brotherhood and one of the few ones we all still adhere to."

"And what might that be?" he asked.

"Basically, that once one of us go down, the rest of us _queue_ up to take down whoever was responsible. If it was a fair kill, we go one after the other by rank, if not, all bets are off. Either way, sooner or later you'd face Pyro or Wanda and then…"

"I get it. No turning the Toad into fish bait," Logan said sourly.

Mystique shook her head fondly, making a small _tsk_ sound.

"Oh, you're welcome to _try_, Wolverine," she said with a smile.

"You people are all insane," he said, meaning every word.

He nearly jerked his head off his shoulders as she reached a cool blue hand up and patted his cheek fondly.

"Takes one to know one, _Logan_," she purred and turned to go, leaving him to resume his observation of the ongoing operation.

"Oh, and Wolverine?"

"What?" he asked and looked her way just in time to see her foot coming at him at blurring speed in a perfectly executed spinning side-kick, hitting him first on one side of the head, then the other.

"Two for flinching, "she laughed as she glided away.

The stinging in his cheeks faded instantly, but he had a feeling his ego would remain comfortably bruised for a long time; at least until the next Danger Room session.

"Crazy bitch," he mumbled as he pulled out a cigar and lighting it.

_Insane. Absolutely batshit! Every single one of them…_

**TBC**

**A/N:** So yeah, it's been a while, I know. I also realise that there wasn't a lot of Pyro/Rogue in this chapter, but I have a lot of characters to juggle now. I hope you liked the interactions and the extra bit of Toad and Mystique that some of you requested (yes, that means YOU, Ed's Tomato)

**A/N2: "**Nie pieprz bez sensnu," I'm told by my Polish friend, Miriam, means 'quit talking nonsense and also plays on 'quit screwing around.'

Please leave me comments and let me know how you feel about the chapter. More than one sentence as always, my dears!!!!!!

Ebon Hush

**Next time on Tabula Fucking Rasa: Chapter 25 – Family.**


	25. Family

**A/N: **Hello, you still with me? I can do nothing else than apologise profusely for the enormous gap between postings. This chapter would not be if it wasn't for my absolutely wonderful friend, Miriam, who was kind enough to act as co-author, beta and muse for this chapter on top of her duties as my Polish translator of much fantabulousness. Thank you!

Without further ado:

**Tabula Fucking Rasa**

**Chapter 25: Family.**

The aftermath of combat-fuelled adrenaline was not a foreign experience to Toad. As the body calmed down after the blood had coagulated and the dust had settled, he often found it difficult for the mind to do the same. His brain was disturbingly wont to blunder on a million miles an hour even though his body had reached a level of lethargy that enabled him to do little else than stagger to the nearest source of beer.

It was one of his few constants: the post-bloodshed pint. Mystique had tried and tried again to wean him off the stuff, claiming that any predictability was fatal and should be avoided at any cost. He had of course retorted that if anything was fatal, it was to keep an Englishman from his lager. They had never quite reached a solution to that particular difference of opinion, but he didn't really mind much; the woman was astounding when she was mid-rant. He wasn't much interested in her in the Biblical sense, birds of a feather (or scale as it were) and all that, but he wasn't above appreciating a fine woman of any tone; be it blue, purple or even skin-coloured.

The female in question was in rare form this fine evening, glaring a swathe clear across the kitchen at him, hitting him square in the back of his neck and probably giving Wolverine, who was situated in front of him, a lovely toxic tan. Good thing the French doors were open or, he reckoned, the air might spontaneously combust.

It seemed that the entire contingent of X-Men, –women, –Toads, and –kids, barring injury (Kitty and Angel) or sickbed duty (Colossus and Iceman), had gravitated to the kitchen to unwind. Toad was happily perched on a tall stool across the table from Logan, who was regaling him with a blow-by-bite account of his (apparently) epic battle with Sabretooth, whom he had (apparently) defeated single-handedly.

It was interesting, he mused, that while an epic battle to him brought to mind the great battles at Hastings or Culloden, in Logan-terminology it seemed to translate into 'hard and nasty grudge-match between two blundering (and occasionally frothing) Neanderthals.'

_How wonderful this new world is; the epitome of civilisation, indeed._

As Wolverine rambled on and on, now with added gestures of moderate beer-toppling power, Toad gripped his own precious bottle a little tighter and let his attention wander on to new and more interesting things. He had long ago perfected the 'nod your head at strategic intervals' method, having had ample practise during his many years in the company of an orator of Magneto's verbosity. How Pyro had ever stayed focused and on task enough to get the deeper meanings of the propaganda at his attention-deficit age was a wonder and a mystery indeed.

Seeing the young firebrand of a few weeks ago today, one wouldn't easily recognise him. Pyro had lost most of the wild, desperate look in his eyes; he had gained a healthier colour, and the lack of the bleached hair and bad attitude had him looking like a proper young man, instead of the kind of dangerous street urchin he used to resemble. He and Beast were seated at a corner table, a pot of tea steaming between them and Beast was writing something down on a laptop while Pyro was talking. Words like 'manifestation', 'relative output', and 'stress-related magnification' drifted over the chatter of Storm, Wanda, Rogue and Cypher at the counter, where sandwiches were being made, and the perpetually broken microwave oven had miraculously fixed itself.

It had turned into quite the not-slumber party, he noted with some satisfaction. For the first time since he and Mystique had made the daft decision to join this band of merry twats, he had a feeling that this endeavour might actually lead to something other than utter and complete fuck all.

"…and you shoulda seen it, Froggy. That Xerox-guy looked like a mummy! I guess that makes the garbage disposal easier down the road, right? Just kick 'im a few times and vacuum the rest," Wolverine blustered. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

At his words, conversation stopped at the nearby counter. Rogue's eyes zeroed in on the older man and one would have to be blind, or have one's back turned as Logan had, to miss the tensing of her shoulders and the glisten of tears in her eyes. Without a word, she turned and hastily left the room.

Surprisingly, it was Wanda who went after her, leaving Storm standing alone with a very uncomfortable-looking Cypher; the boy had never been good with emotional outbursts.

Wolverine, oblivious that he was, and maybe a little drunk, kept on jabbering only to be stopped short at Toad's irritated: " Oh shut up, you berk!" which happened to coincide with the outraged: "Logan, for God's sake," from Storm.

Even as Logan was stuttering to a halt and probably deciding whether or not 'berk' was an insult, Toad glanced over at the corner table. Pyro and Beast seemed to be completely engrossed in their conversation and the good Doctor seemed to be comfortably in lecture mode. Pyro was frowning, absently chewing on the fingernail of his right-hand thumb as he was wont to do when concentrating fiercely.

Mystique seemed to have picked up on the tension and gave him a small nod before gliding out of the room, leaving Toad to deal with Wolverine, who had apparently decided to take offense.

Toad, once again, was presented with proof that Wolverine had next to no decorum as the man sprang to his feet, knocking over the chair making an unholy ruckus, and presented his claws menacingly. This lead to another revelation about one of his companions: Cypher needed lessons in Grace Under Pressure. At the clatter, the young man jerked like a man electrocuted and the microwave combusted in a shower of sparks and hot chocolate.

Toad thought it prudent to acquaint himself bodily with the wonderfully high ceiling of the place, while both Storm and Beast leaped to his defence like knights in shining leather. While Logan, fists shaking and chest protruding, was bustled out of the French doors into the gardens, Cypher busied himself with wrapping his hands around the exposed wires in the wall, most likely trying to prevent a house-wide power outage; Pyro had taken a quick look at the many small fires that had erupted and put them out with a short and firm quelling motion with one hand, as he stood and looked around; no doubt searching for Rogue.

"She's in the hallway, mate," Toad supplied helpfully as he – after making sure that Wolverine was gone - returned to Terra Firma.

"Thanks, Green," Pyro said, nodding once. "What the holy hell is going on?"

Toad shrugged. "Words were spoken, offence was taken; same old thing, really."

Giving an exasperated headshake, Pyro turned to the chocolate-covered Cypher.

"Have you got it under control, dude?"

"Yeah. Just startled me a bit, I guess," was the sheepish answer he received. "It's just that, well, that guy is seriously scary!"

"That he is," Pyro agreed.

Taking a look at several red burns that had started to appear on Cypher's arms and face, he made a shooing motion and said: "Infirmary. Quick march. Get some icepacks from the right-hand freezer and slap 'em on the burns. I'll be right there."

"No you will not," Wanda said as she calmly entered the room, heading for her cup of coffee, pausing only to deliver a sound slap to the back of Pyro's head. "Rogue, she is most upset with the killing of Carbon, and you would do well to go to her." Even worded like a suggestion, it was clear to those who knew her that with Wanda the 'or else' was always implied.

Carrying on giving orders, as was par for the course for Wanda she continued: "Cypher, you will go to the infirmary. I will get Doctor McCoy. Pyro, you will go now, and Toad, you will clean up. Please," she added as an afterthought as she headed out toward the gardens, a stream of muttered curses drifting back to them.

"Idioty… pierdolone nie myslace glupole… chetnie by w nich wbilam troche sensu ale z facetami nie ma sposób wygracz… rozpatrzona dziewczyna w lzach a oni mysla tylko o walce; huje, wszyscy…"

"Wait, Wanda!" Pyro yelled, coming to a stop, already halfway through the door to the corridor. "Wanda!" he repeated, rushing to the French doors. "Wiedzmo! Where did she go?"

"Your room. Now go!"

With that order ringing in his ears, Pyro left the kitchen and almost bumped into Mystique in the hallway.

"In your room", she answered his unspoken query.

"Yes, I know. Clean-up duty in the kitchen"

"I imagine", she sighed and with that, left Pyro to ascend the stairs while she went into the kitchen to begin cleaning up the mess left by the beer-toting Logan and Cypher's amazing display of auto-combusting cocoa.

When she came into the kitchen she was met by the sight of Toad in the throes of mapping out the various spots that were now covered in cocoa and shards.

She grabbed a broom and tossed it to him and said: "Stop surveying and start sweeping."

"Och aye, the work of a terrorist is never done," he quipped in an awful Scottish accent, catching the broom with an effortless flourish.

"Idle hands are the devil's tools, Mortimer" she riposted and began to mix soap and water with the precision of an alchemist.

The cleaning progressed with military precision with the two soldiers instinctively laying out a grid across the kitchen working to maximum efficiency and expediency. When the cleaning was done 45 minutes later, Toad snapped his tongue across the room and snagged another beer from the open cupboard and said "this, love, is high strategy at work. Today the kitchen, tomorrow the world… They don't stand a chance".

"So your plan is to take over the world with a war machine running on booze, is it? That will go over very well"

"Oh come off it, it's only a beer or two between friends"

Mystique raised an eyebrow quizzically; "Friends?"

"Yeah, whatever. Me and Mr. Budweiser here are going to bed," he said and headed for the door, only pausing to turn his head slightly at Mystique's pointedly muttered "Lush."

"Nag," he threw back over his shoulder, smiling.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same. _

**-()-**

A few hours later the mansion was finally quiet; only one shape separating itself from the looming shadows in the underground hallway outside the infirmary. Mystique moved with all the silent grace of her vocation. Though she would viciously deny doing any such thing, she had made a habit of checking on what she in her heart of hearts considered her children.

She crept over to the observation window, pausing and breaking out into a small fond smile at what she saw there. Pietro was a small white shape between the white sheets of the hospital bed, hair tousled, limbs arranged in an ungainly sprawl. Wanda's dark head was resting on his shoulder, her red coat haphazardly arranged around the both of them. Wanda always wore the same perfume as their mother had, Mystique knew; the scent clinging to her coat would act as an olfactory security blanket should Pietro wake up confused in the middle of the night. For all that they fought constantly, the two were indeed as close as a brother and sister could be, and she thanked whatever power that might listen to the likes of her that they wouldn't have to go through life alone.

"Sleep well, children," she whispered, pitying anyone who would be foolish enough to disturb them.

Checking to make sure that the security camera in the hall was active and functioning, she continued on her rounds.

She made her way through the chilly stone hallway, slipping up the concrete stairs before stepping onto the plush carpeting of the wood-panelled corridor. Heading to the second floor, she listened intently for any sound that might be out of the ordinary. The fight today had left her even more alert than usual; Magneto was not the type of man to forget, and their location was far from secret.

She walked down the corridor, one hand trailing the top of the waist-high panelling as she went, luxuriating in the feel of surroundings that were not harsh, decaying or dripping with moisture.

At the end of the hall, she could hear the murmur of soft voices. The door to Pyro's room was slightly ajar and through the crack she could see a soft flickering flame creating a small island of light in the velvet darkness.

Pyro had his arms wrapped around Rogue, her back resting against his chest; their hands cradled in front of them, sheltering a golden werelight, tendrils of fire running across their entwined fingers. His cheek lay half-buried in her loose hair, and together they were watching the flame even as it cast shadows across their faces. Mystique could barely make out their whispered words.

"It's just power, Rogue. We all have it," he said.

Rogue didn't respond other than to give a small, sad sigh and move deeper into his embrace. He tightened his arms around her and kissed her hair and murmured "I know you want me to feel sorry for his death, but I cannot be sorry that you're alive."

As Rogue brought their hands together extinguishing the flame and turned around to face him, Mystique slipped back into the shadows. There was already one protector in that room, and she wasn't needed.

**TBC**

**A/N2: **I really, really hope to hear from you after this chapter, as I've messed around a bit with the 'feel' of the text. It's more 'book' and less 'film' now, I guess.

In conclusion, I can only say: "Thank you so much!" to all of you who've left me reviews and especially to those of you who left long ones! **Reviews are love and long reviews are pure Ambrosia!**


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